


Send the Sun Book 1

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Fiction, M/M, Pre-Slash, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-21
Updated: 2010-02-21
Packaged: 2018-11-20 21:04:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11343147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	Send the Sun Book 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Send the Sun Book 1

## Send the Sun Book 1

### by Flutesong

##### [Story Headers]

  


Title: Send the Sun Book 1 

Author: Flutesong 

E-mail: 

Website: http://www.hegalplace.com/flutesong/ 

Keywords: M/K Slash 

Spoilers: As if that is relevant anymore - Krycek lives after being shot in the garage; Mulder sticks around with Scully and the kid for a while, not just 48 hours like on the show, nothing in canon order after that. 

Rating: Adult sensibilities 

LISTEN!!!! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TH2W7tSGuT0&feature=related 

Summary: Just when you decide to retreat from the world 

Warning: Intimacy, possibly love 

Archive: The Helen online Xmas Zine 2009. 

Send the Sun 

Prologue 

"Now it's another dirty river and another dirty scar And I dont know who's kissing you and I dont know where you are So far from home don't you think of me sometimes?" 

"Hand in Hand" Dire Straits 

The counters in the Nieman Marcus on Fifth Avenue were alive with the seductive scents of perfumes, chocolates and incense. Although it was only the beginning of November, the Christmas decorations were in full flower and several people in a row commented how the holidays seemed to start earlier each year as they came into the store's attempt at an enchanted wonderland. Alex Krycek thought it was a very good attempt at a Christmas Wonderland. The very air was rife with the come hither of expensive items, sensual come-ons that seduce as long as your credit card balance is viable. Alex knew he could have anything he wanted from the store, except perhaps, the yearly million dollar one-of-a-kind gift on display at the Dallas flagship store and then only because of the publicity it generated, not the price. 

He leaned against a mirrored column and watched several teenagers get their faces done at the makeup counter. At forty dollars per color, the salesgirl was selling them the full array, blending eyes shadows in shades of purples, blues and pinks with abandon. The teenagers smiled and preened at one another, each convinced she had the better attendant with the better quality goods. 

Alex rather felt like preening himself, but held himself in check. Now was not the time to make a spectacle of himself, but he couldn't resist just one day in the city before he went into hibernation up in Canada for a very long time. As soon as Mulder found out his body had disappeared from the garage, he would begin to think. A thinking Mulder was as good as a laser beam when it came to making impossible connections between cause and effect and being right no matter how convoluted and tenuous the thread of evidence he followed. 

Krycek shrugged himself off the column and went to find the gourmet food department. Save for Harrods in London, Neiman Marcus had the best of the finest treats to tempt the appetite and he intended to supply himself with a generous amount to offset the isolation somewhere in the mountains where mail delivery was nonexistent during the winter and the only communication was by H.A.M. radio. 

Krycek bought a small ton of specialty items; pates, crackers, nuts and dried fruits, tins of the best soups, stews, chilies and jars of the finest preserves and jellies. He had the whole order delivered to his suite at the Plaza Hotel. On his way out of the store, he bought a fur lined leather jacket, fur lined Doc Martens and a neck scarf knitted in the Scottish Highlands in a black, red and white plaid. Even if he had to be alone in the boonies, there was no reason he couldn't look good while he was there and the richness of the materials pleased him. 

In fact, he spent the entire day pleasing his every wish. It wasn't hard to do after the shit he'd been through the last couple of years. How much he regretted or wished had been different was a subject for the long, lonely winter nights he had coming in the Canadian Rockies and not for his last day in New York. 

His gold card stopped anyone from either pitying him or ragging him about the arm that was missing. Money talked. He stopped for lunch at the Carnegie Deli when he thought his VISA card was about to melt from the heat of being zipped many, many time. The corned beef on rye with spicy mustard hit the spot and he seriously considered buying an ice chest to fill with deli products to transport to Canada, but decided it would be too much to maintain on the nine day drive ahead he had planned, ahead of him. Spicy mustard he'd already bought earlier, maybe it would taste as good on venison or rabbit or whatever else he killed in the wild. 

Back on the busy, noisy street, he had a sudden impulsive pang of gladness that he would be on his own facing the elements in a few days. The city offered plenty of delights and he liked to be pleasured, but essentially he was friendless and the lonely wildness of seclusion pulled at him strongly. He nodded his head; no Marita to screw him over again, no Smoker, who he hoped was long dead at the bottom of the stairs and left to rot, no Mulder with his duality of attraction and danger to worry him and most of all, no new threat from the lumpy-necked half-human half-Borg mutants which were beginning to take over the old alien project. Yes, the mountains called to him and he was ready. 

Chapter 1 

"Such is the state of life, that none are happy but by the anticipation of change: the change itself is nothing; when we have made it, the next wish is to change again. The world is not yet exhausted; let me see something tomorrow which I never saw before." (Samuel Johnson) 

Fox Mulder let himself into Scully's apartment; he thought he should get used to calling it home and wasn't at all certain he could do so. His arms were full of presents wrapped in pastel paper with tiny horses or happy faces and on one particularly squishy parcel, baby buttocks shaped into floating hearts. He'd made a quick call at the Hoover Building and found all these gifts on his desk. He wondered who they were from; because he hadn't been aware Scully had made so many friends over the years to warrant such a pile. On the other hand, everyone it seemed loved a baby. 

Skinner had been grimmer than usual. Mulder figured it was par for the course when one became an assassin. Not that he cared Krycek was finally dead, just that he'd been shocked at how Skinner had blown the other man away without flinching. Skinner had smiled as best he could when he asked after Scully. Mulder was glad his fish tank had been resurrected by Scully and set up in the apartment. Between the normal noise she made just living her life, the baby's cries and people knocking at the door or calling on the phone, the soft hum of his aquarium was soothing. What with the long isolation on the alien ship, although he didn't remember much of it, his tepid welcome back to the FBI and the few cases he'd done recently, the reality of a busily occupied apartment was something of a shock. 

He loved the baby, William, as they were going to call him. He loved the baby; he just hadn't counted on loving one of his own for a long, long time, if ever. He'd given up the idea of fatherhood about the time he'd reopened the X Files with Diana and she'd broken up with him. Scully was deep into maternal mode and as long as he held the bundle, talked nicely to it and changed its diaper without puking or cursing, she was satisfied. 

He did get a great deal of happiness second hand from her happiness. He'd known, but not faced, how much she hankered after a more normal life, although she hadn't complained very often. He was glad she had something similar to her ideal, as long the sprog didn't turn out to be part alien or a psychopathic killer or an FBI agent, her happiness might last a long time. 

He knew when he told her he still had to keep moving on the newest alien threats; she would be angry and disappointed. She was as much as a believer as he was now, but inside, she'd held on to some idealistic hope that the world would go on and that the aliens were not nearly as much of a threat to the survival of the planet as he knew they were, perhaps even that there was a god and god would save them all. The baby had rekindled her faith as nothing in the previous eight years had done. 

Mulder was thinking hard of a way to tell her he had to track the bumpy-necked creatures and that it was safest for him to do that alone and away from her and Will. He didn't want her to sacrifice herself for him or the X Files ever again. She'd paid her dues in blood, sweat and tears and with a great hunk of her youth. It was time for her to step back and for him to fly solo. She would argue. He would stand firm and fail her one more time in a record of failures that was of epic proportions. God, he loved her. He'd loved her almost since the beginning, but it wasn't marital love or living together love or being there love. The dichotomy in his nature was his fault, he knew that. She knew that. The task ahead of him, both to make the break from her and to follow the alien threat were immediate and terrible. God, how he loved her. 

Chapter 2 

"Suffering by nature or chance never seems so painful as suffering inflicted on us by the arbitrary will of another." (Arthur Schopenhauer) 

Dinner at the Scully/Mulder apartment was mostly a matter of a few plates and forks, tall glasses of iced tea and paying someone at the door for delivering that night's entre. Scully tsk-tsked, but it was merely a formality, she was too exhausted from caring for the newborn to really push for a healthier diet and knew better than to insist Mulder cook for them. Nevertheless, tonight it was pasta and salad, so it wasn't a total nutritional write-off. The baby was asleep; Scully portioned out the salad and sat down at the table with a sigh. "Quiet-time at last," She said with a smile. 

"For such a small set of lungs, he really makes himself heard loud and clear," Mulder replied. 

"What's bothering you Mulder?" 

Mulder put down his fork, "There's still work for me to do," He replied. 

"How am I stopping you?" Scully said abruptly, her voice hardening. 

"You're not. Well, not exactly. You're maternity leave lasts for another month or so doesn't it?" 

"Between leave and saved vacation time, I don't really need to report back for almost twelve weeks." Mulder nodded. "I want you to use it all and keep yourself and the baby safe. It's obvious that whatever qualities William has, they were not of primary importance to the aliens, thank god." "William is not an alien, part alien or anything other than one hundred percent human, Mulder." Scully said defiantly, like a child who was guilty about something he thought was a secret. 

"I'm not saying he is," Mulder answered, his voice hardening as well. "But, he is a person of interest to them, just as you and I are. There still aren't many people around who know about them and that knowledge is a dangerous thing. I am transferring the stocks, bonds and monies from my mother's inheritance into your name. I want you to use this to get anything you want for Will or for you." 

Scully sighed, "I won't refuse the money although I wish I could, but Will comes first now not my ego. I can't follow you this time, but I think you know that already. In fact, I think you prefer it that way after all that's happened." 

Mulder shook his head, "I will always need your advice and input, Scully. Without you, I wouldn't have been able to learn all we have from the project over the years. I only regret the dangers I have put you in, not that you were with me." 

Scully came close to Mulder, put her hands on either side of his face and said, "Don't ever pretend with me Mulder. I know you love Will and me; I know you didn't want things to change because of the baby. This is a crossroads of a sort for us. You still want to be on the road following trains full of black oil, Japanese scientists and aliens and I want to work in medicine with the living and not the dead. I will not hold it against you, well not a lot anyway, when you go on as you think you should and as your conscience says you must. But Mulder, the race to find the truth and to save the world is not for me any longer. Come back when you can, send word if you think danger is near to me or Will. I am not waiting for you to come back a hero or to bury you again. Will and I are going to live for the future and live in the light of day." 

Mulder hugged her small frame to him and buried his face in her hair, "Live in the light Scully. I always want to think of you that way." 

Chapter 3 

Enlightenment is not imagining figures of light but making the darkness conscious." (Carl Jung) 

The next morning, Mulder slid quietly out of bed, although Scully, who had been up half the night with the baby, was out for the count. He washed and dressed quickly; silently glad he'd packed the night before and had his bags by the door. Deciding to get coffee at the Starbucks across the street from the Hoover Building, he spent ten minutes by the side of the crib watching Will breathe and snuffle his way till morning and the next day of growth. He tried to imagine his father standing beside a crib and watching him or Samantha breathe, conscious of the miracle of birth and could not summon an image. Even after all this time, he could not clarify exactly what he thought of his father. Scully, naming the baby after both of their fathers, had been sure of William Mulder's innate goodness, but Mulder wasn't so sure of it at all. The murky waters of the project were as vast as the Pacific and held as many unanswered question as when he'd begun his investigations a decade earlier. Nonetheless, what he knew for sure was that it had gotten out of hand and overwhelmed his father and ultimately all the conspirators over the years. Their quests for eternal life through alien intervention and glory through collaboration to save some of humanity had taken them all down in a current of destruction and decay. 

Will, each breath a miracle, was proof that there was still something to fight for, something to prove and something worthy of his efforts to reveal to an uncaring and unaware world. Mulder looked in at Scully one more time, she'd said it years and years ago that he was Ahab and would not, could not; rest until he caught his whale. Ahoy there Scully, he said silently as he left the door and headed for his bags, keep your eyes on the horizon and your heading toward tomorrow; mine will be on the second star to the left. 

Mulder left the apartment that he could never call home, but held what he deemed most precious regardless. 

Mulder's journey began with a single step from the door of the X Files office to the mail stacked on the nearest flat surface. He would have smiled at the sight of the battered envelope which fell to the floor, if he hadn't had enough of spy vs. spy to last him a lifetime. As it was, he put on gloves, knowing no prints but the mail handlers would be on it. He used a knife to break the gummy seal and let the page fall out onto his desk. Putting the envelope and the knife aside, he flipped open the letter with the tip of his gloved forefinger. 

Using ubiquitous cuttings from the newspaper the message read //FIND KRYCEK - FIND THE ANSWERS - OLD MAN NOT DEAD// 

Mulder sighed and scratched his head. He sat at his desk and stared at the message. Krycek had survived the shot in the head? He'd felt sure Spender was dead, not that he had any evidence, just that he felt it strongly. No, no, that wasn't right. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his recollections of being on the alien ship. When the aliens had been probing in his mind, he'd had flashes of insight into their minds. The so-called brain tumor he'd had and which was gone, must have been the conduit. He knew without being able to say exactly how that he'd `heard' them `say' Spender was dead. 

Mulder sat and swiveled his chair slowly, inch by inch taking in everything in the office. Despite the fire and Jeffrey and Diana's occupancy, as well as a year of good-old-John's tenure, a lot of his odd collection of junk had survived and was back on the high shelf, which went around the room near the ceiling. The posters he had bought again, slightly different ones, but they had the same messages. This place had been his real home for over a decade. Everything he'd bet his life on, risked Scully's life for and where he'd trashed every opportunity to be a success in the FBI, was here in this room. 

He rubbed his eyes. If he could say goodbye to Scully, he could say farewell to this hole too. 

It wasn't going to be easy, being on the road alone, knowing Scully wasn't waiting cell-phone in hand for him to call in. Skinner hadn't raised a single objection; he just signed the travel, vehicle, weapons and funds' vouchers with a resigned air. At the last moment, when Mulder was almost at the door he said, "I'll keep an eye on Agent Scully." 

Mulder turned around, "Thank you," He said and left the room. 

Chapter 4 

"Come away, O human child!   
To the waters and the wild   
With a faery, hand in hand,  
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.   
The Stolen Child - William Butler Yeats 

Mulder made one more stop on his way; the Gunmen had left him a long held secret cache of their most promising alien documentation, the more egregious government cover-ups and whatever they had dug up on Spender, X, Krycek and other miscreants who had caused Mulder problems over the years. Mulder had never actually looked at this data, preferring to have his friends tell him what they'd found. But now, maybe there was some crumb of information that he'd missed, something which would give him a clue about where Krycek or Spender was hiding out. Although he did not expect that they were hiding out together. He'd really believed Krycek's hate for the old bastard was the truth. The discs were hidden in typical Gunmen style in the back stacks of unread, yellowed and long out of date volumes of the Congressional Register housed at the Georgetown University Political Science library. They might as well have hidden them with the Arc of the Covenant, like in Indiana Jones, for all that anyone would ever bother to dust, let alone search these out of date monstrosities. Even if someone had dug them up, the encryption was so arcane that the discs would have been tossed in the garbage by any librarian or student who found them. 

Mulder smiled as he sat in his car, the discs beside him on the seat and his laptop on his knees. He'd discounted a great deal of what the Gunmen had obsessed over, because he'd been occupied being obsessed about his own interests. Now he would look and learn and hopefully, find treasure. After all, Frohike was the leprechaun who had teased him with promises of great and horrible discoveries for years and years. He knew he would miss them no matter how long or more likely, short, his life was. Now that he had what bits and pieces he'd chosen from his old life to take with him, Mulder decided he needed a new and more mobile place to keep them. His car hardly rated a thousand dollars on the trade-in, but the small camper he bought would do well enough. It was small and compact, easily maneuverable, unlike some of the mobile homes he'd seen. Besides, he didn't need much space, he just wanted to avoid finding and paying for a motel every night. Sleeping on the fold-out bench would be fine and in fact, it was a step up from his old couch. Once he had everything squared away, he glanced at his collection of files and printouts, the newspapers and magazines rife with alien articles, his posters on the small wall-space and had a brief, but sharp reminder of Max Fenig and his trailer. The reminder sharpened his resolve; so many others had already made the final sacrifice to prove the aliens existed and that the plot to take over included the old bastards. 

Mulder drove around the beltway to the I-270 thruway and the route north. He'd stop for lunch in Hagerstown in an hour or so, meanwhile, he tuned the radio to the Oldie's Station and pressed his foot down on the gas and began as he meant to go on, fast, alone and fearless. 

Chapter 5 

"People travel to faraway places to watch, in fascination, the kind of people they ignore at home." - Dagobert D. Runes Krycek finished his day of decadence in the city by dining at Le Bernardin on Kobe beef with truffles and chocolate mousse with hazelnut whipped cream. The coffee was out of this world too and he had two cups before he knew he couldn't swallow another sip or chew a bite of anything more. 

The bed at the Plaza was wide, clean, cool and comfortable. For a while he felt out of place, but knowing he was going where a small, hard cot would be his only bed, Krycek spread out, stuffing half a dozen down-filled pillows behind his head and neck and watched the late shows on the large television, which was another luxury he would be doing without soon enough. As he had been doing for years, he wondered how Mulder was tonight. For once, he was sure Mulder was happily enscounced in familial activites and more than likely, curled around Scully in her chintz covered bed with the sprog snuffling in the next room. He stretched his arm out as far as it would go and the expance of bedding was greater than his reach, all this space to sleep in alone. As he had been doing for years, he made up his mind not to think of Mulder sharing his space in the night. Tomorrow night, wherever he was, he would make up his mind not to think of Mulder in his bed once more. He never stopped thinking of it, but he was always hopeful he would. 

He tipped the porter a great deal to load two carts with all the stuff he'd bought and take it to the underground garage and load it in the trunk of his SUV. He stood by the car and watched the shadows in the garage for surprise attacks by Assistant Directors of the FBI, just because he was supposed to be dead didn't mean there weren't still people out there who wanted to dig him up and kill him again. 

He started the trip north and west at nine in the morning, the morning rush hour was lightening a bit, not that traffic ever got easy in New York City. He hadn't seen much of this part of the USA and Canada before. It was one of the reasons he had opted to drive across the country. He turned the radio on to an oldies station and boogied in his seat, good hand on the wheel, large coffee in the cup holder and beneath most of his stuff, several hundred thousand dollars, American and Canadian, wrapped in towels and stuffed into a small barrel with the name of a famous pickle company on it and the smell of garlic and pickling spiced emanating from it. He'd have to spray the bills with a deodorizer before he carried any in his wallet. 

The route through Albany and into Vermont held nothing of interest, simply the weary edges of any city in the US; industrial sites, warehouses, tired motels and apartment buildings with half-empty strip malls and fast food restaurants. Nonetheless, with every mile away from New York City, Krycek felt his mood lift and his paranoia ease off bit by bit. 

The hours passed until the car seat became glued to his ass and his neck felt as if it were permanently stretched over the wheel. He pulled off at the next exit, found a shady corner of a nearby parking lot and parked. He got out of the car and stretched. Lifting the prosthesis up and over his head was always awkward, but his neck popped and his back relaxed immediately, so it was worth it. He sat on a handy tree stump and ate a bag of M&Ms that he'd stashed in a pocket. They were a little soft, but the burst of sweet chocolate was welcome. The five o'clock factory bell rang and he watched people pour out of the building at the other end of the parking lot. They were a hardy, if pale, group dressed mostly in green workpants and light blue denim work shirts. The men and the women looked the same as the hurried to their cars, revved the engines and headed out. 

He waited until the lot emptied and the second shift began to fill it up again. The sign on the building read "Truelove Processing Plant", which gave him no clear idea about what was manufactured inside. The evening began to fall and he stretched once more, got back into his SUV and headed back to the highway. He needed dinner and place to sleep. This trip wasn't a race, like he'd had to do in the past, from one place to another. This trip was on his own time and no one's business or concern. He scratched the back of his neck. He hadn't let his hair grow out in almost a decade; maybe he'd do it now. Long hair would be warmer where he was going anyway. 

The lights on the highway came on and the grungy cityscapes faded into the gloom. His parents had worked in a factory; dad as a night security guard and mom in the front office with the time cards. He'd told Mulder years ago that they were cold war refugees, but in reality, because his mother was distantly related to the ousted president Benes, they had managed to get out of Czechoslovakia when the Communists seized power. Benes had gone one way and his parents had immigrated first to Canada and after things calmed down and they made contacts with the Czech population in Detroit, got jobs and permanent Visas into the US. They had already been married, although they were very young and in 1966 when he had been born, his mother had been just a few years shy of forty. They had been good parents; he couldn't deny it and never tried. They hadn't set his feet on the dark path he'd taken. In fact, they'd wanted him to be a teacher, because they saw how far educated Americans could go in a society without a peasant caste. 

Alex sighed and turned on the radio again. Iron Butterfly merely irritated him and he shut it off. They'd died so young, dad, who'd walked the corridors and checked empty offices all through the three year asbestos removal project, had begun to cough up blood when he was sixty two and died quickly. His mother had started the Class Action Law Suit against the company with others who were sick and dying. She had died at sixty, still slender and attractive without a silver hair on her head. Alex knew it was because she'd missed his dad and catching the flu a year after he'd died, she'd simply given up. 

Ironically, it had been the law suit which had brought him to the attention of the FBI and its darker counterpoint; the Consortium, Spender and the elder Mulder. 

Alex remembered; he'd been twenty-six and it was the first birthday without both his parents. He'd been independent since college, but birthdays were special in his family. He'd gotten a certified letter requesting that he come to the meeting of the Complainants in the Asbestos Class Action lawsuit. He'd hadn't thought the case would end up with anyone getting a settlement, but there, among the crowd would be people who had known his parents and he wanted someone else to acknowledge they were gone at a time when he was missing them the most. 

He talked to his PHD advisor and gotten the week to go to his home town and attend the meeting. Alex leaned his head back against the seat; it was suddenly too heavy to hold up. At the meeting, an old neighbor, who had taught him to hunt, cornered him and spoke at length about how the government owed them all and should settle the case in their favor. Between coughs, the older man had railed and attracted the attention of many of the others there. He'd shaken his fist under Alex's nose and said with his bright mind and capacity for hard work he would be wasted as an architect and he should do something which helped people. 

Alex rather thought designing sustainable housing would be doing something for people, but he understood the old man's point. There was a great deal of anger in the room and his own grew amidst the company until he stood and made an extemporaneous speech about how the government's carelessness had devastated good families, his own included. While he was still trembling and appalled at his passionate outburst, two seemingly concerned gentlemen from the US Department of Justice cornered him and talked to him in somber tones offering a combination of respectful attention and searching questions about just how much did he hate the government and how much did he want to do something about the situation. 

Alex sighed and turned off the highway exit which led to several motels. He'd fallen like a ripe peach into their hands. Spender and Mulder had wound him up and he had spoken rashly about taking on the government and how much hate he had because they'd caused his father's death and contributed to his mother's. They'd given him their cards, which looked entirely legitimate. He hadn't called them back, but a few weeks later they were at his apartment door and taking him out for coffee; just to talk it over. 

He'd listened and become enraptured at their tales of being insiders on a special task force that kept an eye on possible government oversights and mistakes. They had described how they had almost unlimited power to right the wrongs and quietly, very quietly, change things. He hadn't questioned their story; he'd been too young for the Viet Nam protests and too busy in school to pay much attention to Desert Storm or corruption in the government over Iran-gate and other scandals. Until his family and friends had become ill, he'd believed the government was a rather benign entity that he had little to do with other than read the papers at election time and vote. 

They invited him on an all expense paid trip to Washington DC and a closer look at the centers of power. 

He'd gone of course, during spring break when the cherry trees were in bloom and DC shined bright, beautiful and commanding with its seats of power and monuments to the great ones who had given a damn once upon a time in history. 

Spender had taken him for a one-on-one tour of the FBI and seemed to hold sway over the directors, assistant directors, and section chiefs alike. He'd felt how much they disliked the man, but Alex figured it was because he was powerful and not because he was an utter bastard, a devil hiding behind his cigarette. 

Then they had gone to Quantico and he'd watched the athletic people training on the exercise courses and their accuracy at the shooting range and been impressed. But, it had been a lecture in forensic medicine which had convinced him. The lecturer had been what every TV and movie studio loved to cast as the wise old doctor; craggy, gray, slim with a twinkling eye. 

And there was Mulder, sitting in the back of the class, a scowl on his face while he asked searching, sarcastic questions about odd findings and chimeras. The class had been impatient with him, but Mulder had not seemed to care. The doctor had been polite, but his patience was wearing thin and finally he'd said since Mulder was no longer a student, merely a guest in the class, he could meet him in his office after class. 

Mulder had stormed out of the room, never glancing in Alex's direction and the lecture had concluded. Naturally, he'd asked Spender about Mulder. 

Spender had smiled sourly behind a newly lit cigarette and said Mulder had been the wunderkind of the Behavioral Profiling section, but he'd lost his shine when he'd opted to reopen and man the X Files. A place, Spender made clear, where nothing of consequence happened. 

Believing that the slightly older handsome man didn't seem like someone to waste his time and intelligence on nothing of consequence, Alex had taken Spender's words with a grain of salt. Just like, Alex knew now, he had been meant to take it. 

Alex opened an energy bar with his teeth, oh; they had primed him well with Mulder as the bait and switch. Mulder: brilliant, handsome, aloof, sarcastic and scratchy, just the way Alex liked a man the most. Spender and old Mulder had been clever, never once giving the slightest hint that they knew Alex swung both ways, but was mostly in the closet. Instead, they had let other information about Mulder trickle into their conversations, small glimpses of the man on surveillance videos and a very telling picture of a college aged Mulder, his arm around another young man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Alex himself. That Mulder had been helping the other student walk after a night at a pub had not been mentioned, nor had they said in any way that Mulder was gay, but they had implied it and created an environment in which Alex thought he could be the man that Mulder would want. 

Alex tossed the candy wrapper into a small garbage bag on the passenger seat floor. Ecclesiastes said that "all is vanity,", but Alex rather thought "Vanity, like murder, will out," said by Cowley was more apt, either way, he'd been taken in just as they had planned and his life would never be sane or normal or safe ever again. 

Alex pulled into the overhang by the Motel's Office sign and got out of the car. He arranged for a room facing the back and pulled around to park by its door. By now, he was tired and hungry. He refused to acknowledge he was also depressed. Instead, he ordered a pizza to be delivered and took a short, very hot shower before it arrived. 

He watched football on TV, never really paying enough attention to the game to know who was playing. The room was nice enough although it was nothing like the one he'd been in last night. The smaller full sized bed with a slight sag in the center was more his usual kind of place and he settled in for the night; the TV on and muted, the door triple locked and his gun within reach under his pillow. 

Chapter 7 

"All men are scoundrels, or at any rate almost all. The men who are not must have had unusual luck, both in their birth and in their upbringing" Bertrand Russell 

The small trailer was more uncomfortable than Mulder expected and he hadn't realized how much work it took to get the damn thing ready for the night. He'd stopped at two camping grounds in Ohio before he found one with the right kind of trailer hookups. Then, he'd had to fill the water tanks twice, because he hadn't bothered to take the Training and Use class the dealership had offered, believing any idiot could figure it out. He did figure it out, but it was almost two in the morning before he could take a shower and heat something up on the small stove. 

"This trip better pan out," He muttered as he spread toast with margarine and scooped the scrambled eggs on top. He pulled one of the Gunmen's notebooks and tilted it on another book to read while he ate. The information he had decoded said the same thing now as when he had done it before. Alex Krycek had a safe house in the countryside north of Vancouver, in the mountains somewhere in the five hundred miles between the city and Prince George. 

There were plenty of good maps and the Gunmen had marked them with their best guesses, but they had never been able to absolutely find where it was located. 

Mulder was sure Krycek was alive and all his instincts told him the man would go to ground in the place he thought was the safest. Who knew how many people or aliens or both wanted him really dead, but Mulder was sure it was a considerable number. He yawned, wadded up his napkin, brushed the crumbs onto the paper plate and threw them away. He'd wash the small pan in the morning. Stripping to his, underwear and socks, Mulder checked the locks, turned off the light, put his gun under the pillow and tried to sleep. It took awhile; his body was still buzzing from hours on the road, but eventually, he fell asleep. 

The next day was gloomy; rain clouds hovered over the flat plain ahead. Mulder got gas, opted for coffee and a donut from a 7-11 and tossed his map on the passenger seat. It was flat for several hundred miles through the remainder of Ohio and most of Indiana and it was all interstate driving. He'd been back and forth across the country on X File business, but usually he flew from on case to another. There was nothing much to see. He loaded the CD player with the re-mastered White Album and pressed his pedal to the metal. 

The rain came like a swarm of locusts covering the entire sky and turning the daylight dark and ominous. He knew he should pull over or stop at the next service plaza, but the torrent suited his mood. The wipers and window defogger going full blast, he kept going. 

Eventually, the combination of unending tractor-trailer spray and dense fog made Mulder stop driving. He parked at the far end of a service plaza, turned off the engine, unfolded his small hard bed and decided to take a nap until the rain stopped. He ruminated once again about Krycek's presence in his life. He'd been there for years now and Mulder still wanted to know what made the other man tick. Certainly danger, misdirection and taunting played a large part in their relationship, but Mulder knew it was too easy to call Krycek a coward and be done. Whatever had tempted Krycek to the dark side wasn't cowardice or fear. He and the Gunmen had uncovered some truths about Krycek after a multi-year search. 

The younger man had been born American to recent migrs from Czechoslovakia. He'd grown up on the poor side of middleclass and had done very well in school. The first time he did anything of note was speaking out at a class action lawsuit meeting regarding the company his parents had worked for failure to follow guidelines regarding asbestos. His father was one of the victims and his mother had died soon afterwards. The Gunmen had gotten hold of several eyewitness reports of the meeting and each had said that Krycek had obviously been beside himself with anger and grief. The local papers had reported that Krycek had roused the crowd, which displeased the government authorities who had been in attendance. 

The interesting part of the eyewitness reports was the comment about one of the government's representatives; a man who smoked constantly, despite the no smoking signs and frowned the entire meeting, but said nothing. The report had also said that this man and another had cornered Krycek after the meeting and had been seen talking to him intensely. 

Mulder was sure the unnamed government rep had been Spender and even went as far as to think that the other man might have been his father, although his father should have been at home and retired. Mulder shrugged irritably, his father and Krycek were always paired up in his mind. 

Mulder tried to get comfortable and doze for awhile; he intended to drive on after the rain, no matter how late it was. 

Chapter 8 

Now you and me go parallel together and apart And you keep your perfect distance and its tearing at my heart Did you never feel the distance  
You never tried to cross no line  
"Hand in Hand" Dire Straits 

Driving through Indiana into Michigan and onto Detroit to the Detroit/Canadian Tunnel had been a pain in the ass, Krycek thought. He pulled through the last Burger King on the US side and watched the traffic go toward the tunnel. The rain had slowed everything up and he was getting more and more itchy about Mulder finding him. He had no proof, there was no one left to contact for Mulder, Scully, Skinner or general FBI information. The alien hybrids had the FBI sewed up these days. Nonetheless, Mulder was coming, Krycek was sure. 

The trek ahead on the Canadian side was going to include some rough spots through the mountains with huge swaths of nothing between places to stop. Krycek debated having his SUV serviced one more time before he attempted the rest of his journey, but gave the thought up, knowing it was another way to procrastinate going to ground for the forseeable future. 

Krycek tossed his wrappers into a garbage can and started the car. He had to go on, because he hadn't lived through everything to die for nothing. If he could hide for long enough, it was remotely possible he could rejoin the world clean at some future date. He hadn't been clean in a long, long time and he wanted it badly. Passport, car registration and driver's license ready; all with the name Fred Harris on them with a real picture, Krycek joined the line to the other side. There was no trouble at the border crossing; the guarder patrol barely glanced at his papers. On the other side, he took a deep breath of Canadian air. If Mulder found him now, help was not a phone call away. He drove on windows open, the cool late autumn wind tugging at his collar and blowing at his overlong hair. He drove all day, invigorated by the air, the scenery and the distance from his past, which grew with every mile. 

Evening came early and the sky turned a sickly yellow behind gray banks of snow clouds. Krycek shook his head and looked for a likely motel. He might be stuck for a few days once the snow started. Well, he figured, he'd been lucky with the weather so far, it could have been snowing every inch of the way from New York. 

It was inevitable, he thought later after his burst of panic subsided. He'd made his way through the shoveled snow from his room to the diner across the way. Out the window by his table, there, in the parking lot of a truck and trailer service stop next lot over, was Fox Mulder stomping his feet while trying to refill a frozen water tank on a small mobile home. 

Krycek grabbed his toast and coffee, tossed a ten dollar Canadian bill on the table and exited the diner through the back door. He made his way behind the diner, some trucks and saw Mulder crouching by the tanks of his vehicle, quickly made his way back to his motel room. From his window he watched Mulder struggle with his mobile home until a kindly, weather-beaten trucker show him how to do things. Mulder smiled the kind of smile he had never used in Krycek's presence and shook the man's hand. Even from his distance, Krycek could see Mulder ask the man to join him in the diner. The man refused with a smile, climbed into a huge semi and waved. 

Mulder went into the diner. 

Krycek breathed deeply. The highway hadn't been plowed and he wasn't going to risk life and remaining limbs driving on it until it was plowed. He watched the diner from his window, careful to stay behind the flimsy blinds. He didn't trust Mulder's ESP not to look up directly into his window and come in guns blazing for a confrontation. 

Mulder came out, pulled his coat tighter around his chest and returned to his vehicle with his head down. 

Krycek watched until the lights inside the mobile home went out and the slight rocking, which showed movement within, ceased. He lay down to nap until he heard the snowplows. He would be on his way before dawn. 

Chapter 9 

"One murder makes a villain, millions a hero." Beilby Porteus 

It was a bitch driving through the pre-dawn on icy roads, but they were cleared and he needed to be gone before Mulder woke up. Krycek couldn't take his hand off the wheel to take a sip of his rapidly cooling coffee. The aroma teased him and added to his impatience. Damn Mulder for following him! Damn Mulder for following and catching up! And, Damn Mulder for making him wish once more that things had been different and they were not enemies, had never been enemies. Krycek sighed. Bill Mulder was the apparition that stood between them. The other stuff might possibly be ignored or overlooked, but not Bill Mulder. 

Krycek had stopped keeping track of fatalities made by his hand a long time ago. The life or death threat to him had been high and completely real. He'd wanted to live, so he had done what he had to in order to live. Every one of his hits had been upon evil persons and he had hardened his heart so he wouldn't regret what he had done. He had no room for doubt, not about the victims and not about the fact that he was going to be the victim someday to an equally coldhearted and toughened soul. 

Somehow, he'd made it through with almost all his parts intact and he was grateful. He had no intention of being a notch on Mulder's list of dead either. Wanting the man's attention was one thing, dying for it was another. He drove on, his coffee getting cooler and cooler until a skin made of his creamer formed on top and it became undrinkable. 

The miles passed under the wheels on his SUV until he thought it was safe to stop and have breakfast and another cup of coffee. Mulder's mobile home was not going to catch up as long as he kept the distance between them. He'd been driving an average of 70MPH; Mulder was going to have to stick to 60MPH at the most. 

Mulder had no intention of driving a senior citizen's 60MPH; he couldn't sleep and had risen early to get on his way. The icy roads hadn't warmed up yet, but they had been cleared. The large trailer moaned and squeaked, but it was steady enough and Mulder pushed it to as far as it could. He was close, he knew it, could almost smell it in the frosty morning and he wasn't waiting for his common sense to convince him otherwise. 

Mulder pulled over to use the toilet and make more coffee, finding he was glad he didn't have to get out of his trailer to find a restroom. He tried his cell phone, but while he could hear a faint ringing at the other end of his call, the static drowned any chance of really talking or hearing on it. 

He thought about making plans, but could come up with nothing. He was going to confront Krycek, betting on his instinct, which told him Krycek had no more reasons to try and murder him. He still, despite all the evidence, didn't think Krycek would have really shot him in the garage, but then, he always thought Krycek had wanted something from him that never got articulated. Maybe now was the time for everything to be examined, discussed and let into the open. First however, he was beat the shit out the bastard. Thus resolved, Mulder pressed on as fast as he could and followed his nose. 

Mulder remained sure of being just behind Krycek and Krycek, for his part, moved on faster than he had planned. For four days they raced across the Badlands, the wide sky views of Montana a very rapid spanning of the narrowest part of Utah and finally, the outer rim of the Northwest Rockies and the high elevation drive to the opposite coast from where they each began. 

Chapter 10 

"Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was a choice, but falling in love with you I had no control over." Anon 

Krycek stayed a step ahead of Mulder, but it came with the price of turning his journey into a race fraught with tension and urgency, just when had wanted to take his time and see this part of the world. 

Finally, he got to Vancouver and was determined to get a room and stay the night at least. He took the side streets and ended up in a chain hotel near a soccer stadium. It was nowhere near the center of town or tourist attractions and had nothing to recommend it besides being near a stadium in the off season. 

He checked in carrying only a duffle bag, in which he had stuffed the pickle barrel with the money in it and a small case for the night. Rather than order room service, which only ran to omelets and burgers in any case, he had Thai carryout delivered and watched TV. A long hot shower and he went to bed. Mulder might be out there in the city by now, but he doubted the man would find him tonight, anyway, there was no place to park his mobile home nearby. 

He was on his way by nine and the day sparkled with ice in the sunshine. 

Mulder, as was his wont or luck or ESP, turned out of a public hookup lot just as Krycek passed through the intersection. He could hardly believe his eyes, but it was Krycek, bright as day, sitting behind the wheel of a new, but mud and salt stained SUV. He waited for three more cars to get between him and Krycek and turned onto the same street. He knew Krycek would spot him, but it was heavy city traffic and he would be able to keep up for a time, especially if he was behind a bus or a large truck. 

Mulder cursed his decision to travel in a mobile home many times over the next three hours as Krycek weaved his way around Vancouver and onto West George Street over the Burrard Inlet Bridge and onto Highway 99. Once there, Mulder knew he had him. There was no other highway north from Vancouver to Prince George. 

Krycek pulled up to a diner for lunch before he left the West Vancouver City limits. He had felt off kilter and itchy for the last couple of hours, but he'd seen nothing but a variety of unsuspicious cars and trucks behind him. 

In the diner, he got a cup of coffee immediately at the counter and ordered the Blue Plate Special of Sloppy Joe and Cole Slaw on a huge bun. He was eyeing the slices of pie in the desert case when the hair on the back of his neck stiffened and he saw Mulder's reflection in the glass of the case. He sighed, but did not reach for his gun. He was done with endangering civilians and he wasn't going to have a shootout in a diner; he wasn't Dirty Harry after all. 

Mulder took the seat next to him at the counter, winked as the waitress poured his coffee and ordered a BLT, fries on the side. 

"Krycek," He said and lifted the coffee cup to his lips. 

"Mulder," Krycek grumbled. 

"Going somewhere special?" Mulder asked. 

"Nowhere special, just a place I know." Krycek answered. "Ah," Said Mulder and spread the mayo more evenly on his bread. "But then you always know of a place or a time or a person of interest, don't you?" 

Krycek could hear the provocation in Mulder's tone. "Not anymore," Krycek replied, "I'm retired." 

"Nice," Mulder said snidely, "So you finally have time to tell me your life's story, starting at the beginning." 

"I'm not telling you anything, Mulder. I am retired and I don't have to answer to anyone anymore, starting with you." 

"But then, you never really answered to me, did you; even when you were wide-eyed and sparkly in your Junior G-man Suit and Tie, begging to be trusted." 

Krycek sighed, Mulder was exhausting. "Why is it that nine out of every ten people you've met in the last decade had a hidden agenda and you focus on me? And don't give me that "you killed my father" crap. You hated the old man and knew he was at the center of all the shit and never told you anything." 

"Ah," Mulder breathed, "Maybe he was, but I never got the option of making him open up, did I? You took care of that with a bullet in his brain." 

"Mulder, you had almost twenty years to get him to talk before I came on the scene. I know teenage angst can be pretty heavy, but you were like thirty. So don't try to blame your procrastination on me." "Trying to turn the table on your guilt and blame me instead? I should have guessed that is what you would do. Have you ever taken responsibility for anything Krycek? Or have you just let the blood spill willy-nilly and moved on?" 

"I have left trickle compared to your flood Mulder. Just how many have died while you've spent the last decade with your head up your ass?" Alex swigged down the last of the coffee in his cup; the slices of pie now turned his stomach. 

Mulder chewed a bite of his sandwich slowly. He wasn't going to get anywhere with Krycek by debating blame. The man obviously had neither a conscience nor a heart. "Just tell me," He said clearly. "Just lay it out for me, no blame, no beatings, and no gunshots. Tell me what you know about the organization and who is left alive to run it. The Billy Miles' type hybrids are mostly indestructible and I want to know how to stop them." 

Krycek rubbed the spot between his eyebrows, feeling a stabbing headache bloom. "Do you remember Albert Holstein, the old Indian code talker?" 

Mulder blinked, "Yeah, yeah I do." 

"He was wise and kind and as solid as a redwood tree and and as timeless as the desert, yet his life was caught up in the same shit as you and me." Krycek signaled for another cup of coffee, added sugar, "My point is that no one of any character type escaped this thing; good, bad or indifferent. Those of us who haven't been murdered yet don't mean we have some kind of moral superiority or underhanded cleverness that protects us. It just means they haven't gotten to us yet or are waiting for something we don't know about." 

"Okay, I get the point. I don't necessarily agree, but I won't quibble about it now." 

"You call the last ten years quibbling over differences in opinions?" Krycek saw Mulder frown and stick out his lip. "Okay, okay, I won't bait you either." Krycek said and Mulder relaxed. 

Mulder chewed some more while Krycek sipped his coffee, "I won't give up and you can't escape me this time, Krycek." 

"Can't you just leave me alone? I'm going away and won't be back, I swear." 

Mulder grinned sardonically, "You're the bad penny in my life Krycek. You `always' come back, just like the Terminator." 

Krycek wished he had aspirin handy. "You followed me this time." He stated. 

`Yes," Mulder answered. 

"You should be home with the woman and the kid," Krycek said. 

Mulder looked out the window, "Everyone always thinks what I wanted was to complete a replacement family and then I wouldn't be a problem or have a chip on my shoulder anymore. And yet, that was never something I wanted. Even Scully thought I secretly wanted to be inside all those warm safe houses we passed in the night on the way to whatever nightmare X File we were on. She did, not me, I wanted the dark road, a tank of gas and the mystery at the end of it." Mulder went on and Krycek thought he was talking more to himself than having a conversation. "I love Scully and the kid. Loving them is already part of me, but it isn't the strongest component of my id or my ego. Without the whole alien conundrum, I would still be looking for the next inexplicable thing to understand, reveal and make public." 

Krycek sighed, "It's addicting," He said. "I don't think I will ever live a normal life, if I get to live one at all. I am out of the alien business, what's next, I have no idea. I was going to ground for the foreseeable future and think a lot." 

Mulder adjusted his seat, "Take me with you and tell me everything you know. Then, I'll leave you alone then, if that's what you want and forget your address. Hell, I'll forget I ever met you." 

Krycek laughed bitterly, "That's some promise from a man with an eidetic memory." 

Mulder shrugged, "You want more coffee?" 

Krycek said, "No." 

"What next?" Mulder asked. 

Chapter 11 

"Fools live to regret their words, wise men to regret their silence" (Will Henry) 

Krycek knew there was no way to lose Mulder this time around and he was damned if he wanted Mulder to know the location of his safe house, although it seemed he knew, roughly, the area anyway. "Mulder," Krycek said softly, "I don't have much information that you don't have yourself. You've put the thing together with instinct and tenacity." 

Mulder snorted, interrupting Krycek, "Blood, sweat and tears, more like." He commented. 

Krycek glanced at his prosthetic hand, "Whatever." They sat quietly for a few moments, "I don't want you to know where I live." Krycek said baldly. 

Mulder blinked and smiled sourly, "Why not?" He asked. "You've dropped in without an invitation to my place more than a few times." 

"It's not the same thing," Krycek said exasperated. "You're apartment was Surveillance Central for those old bastards when there was a game on. There's nothing happening now and my place is at the end of the world." 

Mulder slammed his coffee cup into the saucer and everyone in the diner jumped at the noise. "Nothing happening," Mulder said fiercely. "The hybrids already have the FBI and who knows how many other government agencies in their pockets. They're erasing everyone connected with the earlier parts of the project. I need to know their plan and how to stop them before they take over the world." 

"My hero," Krycek said with a curl on his lip, "Saving a world full of ass-wipes and hypocrites who won't thank you for bringing their immanent destruction to their attention. Have you ever thought that maybe this "is" the way things are supposed to happen? Maybe aliens are God's creatures too and sent on a mop-up mission from Him personally. Who do you think you are, trying to change the fate of the world; Moses, Jesus?" 

"Too facile by half, Krycek, that's the ultimate cop-out. We can't be a planet of assholes and also a world of God's making. But, it doesn't matter. I am not emulating a savior or auditioning for sainthood. This is my fight; it has been since Samantha was taken, maybe before that with additives were added to my DNA or whatever. I `can' do something about the aliens, but I have to know more than I know now." 

Krycek sighed once more. "I was sure you were on my tail since I left New York, as a consequence, I traveled much more quickly than I had planned. I wanted to see things along the way. You know, like a tourist. I'm tired Mulder. The ski resort at Whistler is supposed to be fabulous and luxurious. Money is no object. Come as my guest there for a few days and I'll talk if that's what you want." 

Mulder bit his lip. Krycek was being agreeable and he didn't believe it for an instant, but he knew when it was time to give in a bit on the way to getting what he wanted. "I want a hot-tub on a balcony with snow all around." He said. 

Krycek smiled, "No doubt it'll snow just for you." 

"You have a map?" Mulder asked, "I have one in the motor-home, we'll plot a route and I'll follow you." 

Krycek rose, tossed twenty-five dollars Canadian on the table and headed for the door, Mulder right behind him. 

Chapter 12 

"The difficulty with this conversation is that it's very different from most of the ones I've had of late. Which, as I explained, have mostly been with trees." Douglas Adams 

They traveled caravan style to Whistler, not stopping on the way. There was traffic and the road was cleared, but icy. The trip took a little less than three hours and by the time Krycek pulled into the Pan Pacific Resort Hotel complex, the weather was worsening. He made sure Mulder got a room with a balcony hot-tub and that he was across the hall. The idea of adjoining rooms or worse, a suite, crossed his mind, but not only would the temptation be too great to watch and listen to Mulder minute by minute, but Mulder would know what he was doing every moment as well. 

Mulder put the change of clothes he'd grabbed from the motor-home in the top drawer of the huge dresser, checked out the hot-tub and peed in a bathroom that was larger than his Hegal Place apartment. He hurried across the hall and knocked on Krycek's door, even such a brief time out of sight and Mulder wasn't sure the mad hadn't disappeared into thin air. 

Krycek opened the door, a beer in his hand from the mini-bar and the TV already on and blasting coverage of a hockey game. "You into ice hockey?" Mulder asked loudly as he followed Krycek's gesture to come in and take the other beer on the dresser. 

Krycek shrugged, "When in Rome..." He answered and tipped his bottle at Mulder. He used the remote to mute the game. 

Mulder looked around; the room was a mirror image of his own. He sat in one of the three arm chairs and took a swallow of the beer. 

Krycek sat across from him, his face partially shadowed in the flickering light through the open drapes. "Your friends," Krycek began in his soft low voice, "The Gunmen, I think was their name, they found you the information on me?" 

"Yeah," Mulder said. "We had prearranged safe spots for things we left for each other in case of catastrophe or death. They had you traced as far as north of Vancouver for your safe house. They figured it was the best guess of a place you would go to ground and hide someday." 

Krycek sighed and belched softly, "If I live long enough to become anonymous I would be happy." 

"Tell me Krycek," Mulder said in a determined tone, "Don't make excuses or apologies, and just tell me what you know about these new hybrid aliens." 

Krycek drained his beer. "The hybrid experiments went on for years, almost since the group of men, including Spender and Bill Mulder become a faction in the US. Several of the cases you investigated were experiments that group had some insane genius or other working on. They recruited the best in science and eliminated them once they were done or got possessive of their research, which ever came first." 

Mulder pursed his lips and nodded, "Like the Cole case?" 

Krycek closed his eyes briefly, "Yeah, like that." 

"Go on," Mulder urged. 

"Each step of the way became an argument between the factions, some wanted to obey the aliens and get their relatives back by staying out of the cloning and DNA business. Some of the others wanted to have a way out if there was an invasion. All of them had a lust for power in common, which didn't leave room for other loyalties like friends, family, decency or the law." 

Mulder sighed audibly. 

Krycek shifted in his chair, "They were heavily influenced, you know; WWII, smuggling in the Nazi scientists that even the rather open invitation by the US didn't want and their own various brands of anti-Semitism. If they hadn't had some sympathy for the Third Reich in the first place, they would have felt the horror of the war rather than lust after the potential of a regime they controlled to rule the world." 

"My mother was Jewish," Mulder muttered. 

"Well, yes and there is no worse anti-Semite than Jew against Jew and the war really highlighted the difference between more contemporary observances and the old ways. Wiping out the old ways didn't bother them at all. Ironically, they saw themselves as proponents of Secular Humanism, as long as the human race wasn't in the way of their aggrandizements. Knocking off a few more million wouldn't have fazed them at all." 

Mulder got up and paced around the bed from one end to the other. 

"Into this soup, the H-bomb tests and deployment brought the alien ships crashing into the irradiated deserts and ocean floors. Now Mulder, they'd been around forever, some of them buried for millennia beneath the oceans and permafrost and virtually forgotten by the aliens themselves. The others had been around too, with their ships and occasional visits, but only as observers with a few pioneer types trying to live as human and sending reports back to the mother ships and motherland. The humans, men of the future, as they saw themselves, jumped on the opportunity for better science and more power. They held the alien genome hostage and made the deal. The fact that they were all liars and Megalomaniacs were soon apparent to the aliens and they sent for the first of the shape-shifting bounty hunters; a species they'd dealt with around the galaxy for eons. The aliens knew enough about humanity to feel that they needed to keep a handle on the spread of information. They began cleaning up the witnesses and experimental subjects almost as soon as there were any." Krycek stopped, got up and retrieved another beer from the small fridge. "You were part of the cleanup, you understand; a regular Nancy Drew finding clues and losing evidence." 

Mulder sat down with a plop on the bed, rubbing his forehead. 

Krycek, his point made went on. "Unfortunately, a couple of alien splinter groups formed just as quickly; Bounty Hunters who worked for the humans in charge of the projects, Bounty Hunters and Rebel Aliens who teamed up and wanted to keep themselves intact and inviolate from human intervention and a smaller, but very tough faction of Healers who wanted the humans who were in charge of the projects to be proven wrong when the `goodness' of humanity triumphed over their plans for domination through alien science." 

Mulder lay back on the bed and studied the ceiling. Krycek, more used to figuring out things alone in random motel rooms than being with a partner, remained silent and let Mulder think. 

At length, Mulder began to speak. "So, it took until the assassination of JFK and the Viet Nam era for the men of Spender's generation to be in control?" He stated, not really asking a question. Krycek closed his eyes and could practically see Mulder's logical arguments forming on the inside of his eyelids. 

"They must have been awfully compliant following orders to experiment on their family members. But, I guess if their aim was to take over the world, messing with a few kinfolks they could keep their eyes on wasn't a leap." Mulder nodded to himself. "Then, the Big Deal was struck, and some of those family members were taken in exchange for leaving the Alien Genome in human hands with a bogus promise to leave it alone. The aliens must have thought that human family loyalty would win out over experimentation with the genome. What I don't understand is why the aliens made the deal at all?" He waited a beat and prodded, "Krycek?" 

Krycek let out a breath, "Perhaps it is the greatest irony of all, Mulder. The visiting aliens, who had fallen to earth like a band of bad archangels, feared their forbearers who were waking up from the depths of the now irradiated, primordial soup. They had changed a lot over sixty billion years or so and immediately assumed the old ones would need to be put down. They had scruples about fratricide, if you can believe that and wanted the human collaborators to take care of the problem. That's how they got sucked into some of the experiments, believing the humans were merely trying to get a handle on how to deal with the threat that the ancient ones posed." 

Mulder sat on the edge of the bed and scrubbed at his face, leaving white streaks fading to red and back to skin tone. Krycek moved a hand toward Mulder as if to touch him, but Mulder opened his eyes and pulled away. Krycek let his hand drop. 

"Is that enough show and tell for one night, Mulder?" Krycek asked gruffly, he'd almost betrayed what he had to keep secret and it made him angry with himself. 

Mulder sat and stared at Krycek quizzically. "You weren't going to hit me, were you?" He asked softly. 

Krycek felt a shiver down his spine; he hadn't heard that tone of voice directed at him since he'd shot Cole back in the day. "Nah, I thought there was something in you hair, but it was just the light." 

Mulder got up, jingled the change in his pocket and said, "Ah, okay Krycek." He walked to the door, his hand on the knob. "You want to go get a drunk in the bar?" He asked in a rush. 

Krycek looked at the beer bottles on the small table, he wasn't thirsty and in the DMZ they'd created, he was full of feeling things he never let out. Drinking with Mulder was dangerous. He shrugged, stood up; "Sure," he answered and knew himself for a fool. 

Chapter 13 

"Be wise with speed; a fool at forty is a fool indeed." Edward Young 1683-1765 

"The follies which a man regrets most in his life are those which he didn't commit when he had the opportunity." Helen Rowland 1876-1950 

The hotel bar was quiet, smelled like smoke, beer and disinfectant. Mulder chose a two person booth in the corner facing the door. Krycek applauded his paranoia as well as tried to tell himself that it wasn't because Mulder wanted intimacy, however much he did. 

"Beer?" The Bartender asked? 

`Scotch," They replied at the same time, paused and said, "on the rocks," chuckling uncomfortably because they had spoken in tandem like longtime drinking buddies instead of what they were, enemies taking a temporary truce. 

The drinks came on a small tray, the bartender coming out from behind the bar. He had stained jeans and threadbare running shoes on beneath his apron. Krycek got to his wallet first and put a twenty of the tray. "Thanks." He said. 

They drink and don't talk much until the bartender raises the volume on the bar's sound system and Kenny Roger's `Know When to Hold Them,' is playing the final lyrics about the old gambler dying on the train. 

Mulder mumbles "And somewhere in the darkness the gambler, he broke even" and takes another sip of his scotch. 

Krycek barks out a laugh, the sentimental lyrics cut too close to the bone for comfort. "Nice to go out even," He says bitterly. 

Mulder shrugs, his scotch dampened lips in a pout, "What's even?" He asks rhetorically. 

But Krycek doesn't hear him; he's staring at Mulder mouth. The temptation is overwhelming and if he wasn't sure Mulder would hold his grudge against him to the grave, he'd bet the man was teasing him on purpose. 

Abruptly he puts his glass down, "I'm beat," He says and stands up. 

Mulder's frowns and his bottom lip sticks out more as a consequence, "Lightweight," He replies. 

"Better than the hangover you're going to have in the morning." Krycek says and heads toward the door. Mulder doesn't follow and he'd not sure if he's relieved or sorry. "It's almost two before he finishes showering, dressing and repacking his rucksack. He heard Mulder stumble by his door half an hour ago. Krycek sits on the bed. Mulder's going to be pissed when he wakes up to find him long gone, but it can't be helped. He's told Mulder a great deal of what he knows and he still wants his chunk of peacetime in the cold cabin waiting for him a scant three hundred and fifty miles away. 

And, he doesn't want Mulder to know where it is. He doesn't want to be drawn into Mulder's plans either. He feels around inside himself, poking; like at a sore tooth for his bottom line. At last he nods and gets up, turns off the lights and very quietly opens the door a crack. The hallway is empty, Mulder's door is closed. Three doors down are the stairs. Krycek closes the door, but leaves it agape just a tiny bit in case Mulder is listening for a telltale sound of a door closing. He walks quickly to the stairwell's open door and leaves. 

The garage is freezing and the red exit lights look hazy in the gloom. He looks everywhere; no one is around and he doubts an assassin has been waiting in the cold for him to come out at two thirty in the morning. Still, he's careful to study the frost around his vehicle to make sure no footsteps have disturbed the area recently. 

He's almost five miles away before he begins cursing himself for being a fool. 

Dawn comes early, but he doesn't dare stop for coffee. Mulder would trace him with every inch of his skill and the risk is too great. Instead, he puts a frozen can of coke in the passenger's seat, aims the heater at it and after a few minutes; sips at what has melted trying to imagine the caffeine is helping him keep his eyes open. 

He stops to pee behind a clump of trees more than once, most likely from all the cokes he drinks along the way, but takes care not to encounter any people on the journey. The three hundred and fifty miles takes seven hours when all is said and done and the shorter daylight hours are closing in when he pulls into the cabin's shed. He carries in firewood before his luggage and gets the fireplace and the huge old fashioned Aga stove going. He had debated having heating installed, but the cost of fuel and the noise of a generator going all winter was not to his taste. He regrets it now as he alternately sweats and freezes while he brings in all the supplies he purchased. 

He does have a smaller generator to heat water for the shower and kitchen sink, so he gets that going while he unpacks and stows his gourmet selection on the plain pine shelves along with the homelier cans of soup, stew and vegetables. He boils water for coffee and makes several sandwiches. Finally, he sits to eat and drink and spares a random hope that Mulder is not still following him north in the cold night. The roads are icy and the moon is obscured by dense clouds. There would be snow before morning and snow in Rhode Island, which Mulder knows well, is not in the same class as snow in the Canadian Rockies. 

Krycek makes the bed, puts two antique blanket warming pans on the Aga and takes a shower. He warms up the bed, builds up the fire in the fireplace and banks the fire in the stove. A gun under his pillow and another on the end table by his head, he gets into bed and closes his eyes. **CHAPTER 14**  
Health food may be good for the conscience but Oreos taste a hell of a lot better. Robert Redford 

My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, and every tongue brings in a several tale. Shakespeare Richard III 

Krycek chops firewood. It's been three days and there is no sign of Mulder. He's worried the bastard got caught in the snow and froze to death in his excuse for a mobile home. Krycek believes he doesn't lie to himself, believes he knows his mind and heart and how to keep on living with the things he's done. He crashes the axe into the stump and sits down next to it while he sweats off his effort. He should go in before his sweat turns icy, but he looks out over the landscape instead. Fuck if he hadn't thought Mulder was right behind him. He thinks about that for a while from all angles, before he faces the truth. He's always wanted Mulder's approval, more; he's wanted Mulder's friendship. In his dreams, he's wanted Mulder in bed too. 

Maybe he `was' willing to die for Mulder's attention, it seemed likely now when he should be feeling free and doesn't because Mulder is out there. He remembers Mulder's old posters, `The Truth Is Out There', truer sentiments were never emblazoned on a poster. He scratches his forehead just beneath the edge of his hat. Alex Krycek gets up, kicks over the pile of logs he has just axed into the right size and heads for the door of his cabin. A half an hour later he emerges fully dressed with a rucksack over his left shoulder and his SUV keys in his hand. He has to know Mulder is safe somewhere and hasn't perished of frostbite or frustration at not getting his way. 

There are a couple of junctions along the way back to Vancouver and he stops at all of them, discreetly slipping tens and twenties around to find out if Mulder has passed through. He hits pay dirt after seventy-five miles. He doesn't even have to bribe anyone. Mulder's junky excuse for a mobile home is on the lift at the garage for all to see. He pulls up at the bay, there are two men smoking cigs and a third pretending to tighten nut and bolts in the chassis of the mobile. 

One man tosses his cig into the snow and comes up to Krycek's car, "Need a fill up Mister?" Krycek smiles, unless it's a blizzard there is no self serve at these places. New faces and a bit of gossip is about all these station workers get out of a day on the job. 

"Sure," Krycek answers. "Where's the guy who owns that piece of shit?" 

"You the guy he's been waiting for?" The man stops pumping for a moment. Krycek doesn't say anything. The attendant spits into the snow, "He's up at Mrs. Conner's B&B." He says and points a dirty finger at the large old house up the hill. 

Krycek sighs; Mulder has gotten the better of him once again. He suspects Mulder messed up the mobile just to wait here and see if he would come and check up on him. He refuses the offer of a windscreen wash, pays the man and gets back into his SUV. There is a one lane roadbed going up the hill which has been plowed. He heads up the hill and Mulder is waiting for him at the door, a very smug smile on his face. 

Krycek pushes the door open and pushes Mulder up against the wall, rattling Mrs. Conner's display of `Silver Spoons from the Fifty States' collection. "Asshole," He says in Mulder's face. 

Mulder starts to laugh and weirdly, hugs Krycek while patting him on the back, as if they'd scored a touchdown. "Softy," He says between chuckles. 

"The hell," Krycek answers, but begins to grin. Either Mulder's high on Mrs. Conner's chamomile tea or he's lost his mind. Krycek doesn't care; Mulder is holding him and laughing. He feels like he's won the lottery or pushed the Smoker down another flight of stairs. 

It doesn't last. Mulder lets go and steps away. Hardly able to believe he touched Krycek willingly. He had bet on his instincts that Krycek wasn't nearly as dedicated to retirement that he would let Mulder freeze to death trying to find him. And, he was right. It didn't add up; Krycek's ability to live as a stone cold assassin and at the same time; worry about Mulder like a mother hen. 

Then again, Krycek was never able to shoot him when he had the chance and there had been a great many chances. Still, it would not do to overestimate Krycek's better nature, because if he had one it was very small and very peculiar. 

Mulder feels triumphant anyway. He'd rolled the dice and came up sevens. Now, to get Krycek to take him home for some long talks, Mulder wonders if it would help things along if he volunteered to have a blindfold on or anything else that would make his directional instincts screw up. 

"You found me," Mulder says pseudo casually, "What next?" 

Krycek shakes his head, "You're snug as a bug right here, asshole. I'm going home." 

"Come on Krycek," Mulder almost pleads. "It's almost dark and the roads are icy. If you won't take me with you, stay here. There is plenty of privacy for you to tell me the rest of the story." 

Krycek sees the orange ball of the setting sun behind the snow clouds. If he stays, it might me several days before he can get out again. The main highway would be plowed, but the road to the hotel would not. "What have you got for bedding in the mobile?" 

Mulder looks confused. 

"I only have one narrow bed." Krycek says and knows he'd love the tight space if he could share it with Mulder. 

"Ah," Mulder answers seriously. If he laughs at Krycek now, he knows the whole deal is off. "I've got the kind of mattress which folds into the wall. It'll do as a camp bed." 

Krycek nods, he doesn't look happy. 

Mulder will settle for resigned. "Wait right here," He says and runs up the stairs for his suitcase. He's back within moments and the two men get in the SUV, stop to collect the mattress from the mobile and head north on the highway. 

Krycek knows he's lost his mind. He's taking Special Agent Fox Mulder to his last safe-house; he might as well have taken out an ad titled, `Come and Kill Me Here' on national TV. Nevertheless, Mulder is hunkered down beside him, being quiet for once and he's doing a steady 65 on the highway. He lowers the heat and turns on the radio. 

Now that he has achieved his objective, Mulder is speechless. He knows he's lost his mind; he might as well as pinned a target on his chest, `I'm Jimmy Hoffa' going off with Krycek into the vast unknown. Krycek could kill him and hide him under a snowdrift and no one would suspect a thing until he thawed in the spring. 

Mulder thinks about Scully and the baby. He'll do anything, risk everything to end the alien threat and rid the world of the supersoldiers and the dregs of the Project. He looks at Krycek's grim visage, as far as he knows, Krycek's so called retirement could be a smokescreen and he will do anything, risk everything for the alien agenda to win. Mulder sighs deeply and Krycek's frown etches deeper on his forehead. 

They ride in silence for almost an hour before Krycek pulls over by the side of the road. It's full dark, the snow clouds blocking the moon save for a weird yellowish haze. There is a turnabout up ahead. "Mulder," Krycek practically growls from a dry throat. "In a week or so the Farmer's Almanac says blizzard season will start and they haven't been wrong for over a hundred years. There will be no traveling from where my cabin is located. It is too far to hike back to this road too. My plan was to lay low for the worst of winter and come to terms with what I was going to do with the rest of my life, assuming that I time ahead of me. I have a '75 Dodge in my shed, it's old and slow, but it can get you back as long as the road is clear. I want your word that after you've asked your questions and had what I can give as answers you will drive the Dodge back to where your mobile-home is and leave the area. You may think no one was watching you or knows where you are, but I don't believe it for a second. Give me your word or I'll turn around right now and leave at the bus stop at the junction twelve miles back." 

Mulder has never heard Krycek say so many words at one time and spends a moment being overwhelmed. He thinks of several smartass replies, but he doesn't utter them. "I will take the Dodge and get out of Krycekville. I give you my word as long as you can make me believe your information is not a pack of lies. I don't want to get stuck up here for the winter going insane in a small cabin with you." He wants to add a diatribe about how he's checked for tails or surveillance, but since he really hasn't bothered to do so, he holds his tongue. He has a feeling that Krycek knows when he is bluffing. 

Krycek just sits there, the grim look on his face showing he is not so young anymore and that he has suffered. The lines around his mouth don't lie. Mulder feels a pang deep in his chest. Maybe the rat-bastard has suffered and does have regrets, but he's not about to forgive or forget even one of the man's sins against him. 

Mulder waits silently. 

Krycek starts the SUV, puts it in second and turns off the highway heading north east into the rugged cliffs ahead. 

Mulder feels as if he is going further away from civilization than when he was on the alien ship. 

15) 

The man that sets out to carry a cat by its tail learns something that will always be useful and which will never grow dim or doubtful Mark Twain 

Even without a blindfold, Mulder feels lost within minutes. If there's something in the topography that Krycek is following. It makes no sense to Mulder, they are making zigzag tire tracks in fresh snow, but it doesn't seem they are actually going in any particular direction. Everything looks the same. He closes his eyes, telling himself it's the glare off of the snow. 

Krycek is quiet, but seemingly not as depressed as he was earlier. It amazes Mulder that Krycek believed him when he said he'd go without argument. He contemplates staying just to drive Krycek crazy and decides it not as nonsensical as it sounds. In fact, it sounds pleasurable in a strange otherworldly way. He wouldn't have to shoot Krycek, or beat him up to win, all he would need to do is talk unceasingly and Krycek would run out into the snow barefoot just to get away from him. Mulder smiles and drops off into a nap. 

Krycek notices when Mulder falls asleep. He thinks he's driven in circles long enough for Mulder to have no sense of direction, but sleep adds to his certainty that Mulder would not be able to find his way back, if he tried. Krycek has no intention of allowing Mulder to take his backup vehicle. Before the blizzards come, he'll take Mulder back himself. Out here, once winter is in full swing, the only thing which would insure finding anything is the best of GPS technology, preprogrammed to a grid of the area. 

He allows his mind to fall into more mundane concerns. He doesn't think Mulder is a fussy eater, regardless; he'll eat what Krycek makes or go hungry. It's a good thing he bought lots and lots of food, coffee beans and scotch, if he has to share it with Mulder for several days or perhaps a week. 

The final ridge before the valley where his cabin is located is up ahead, everything is shrouded in a dim yellow glow and Krycek hopes the Almanac is accurate and the storms will hold off for another ten days or so. The odd light worries him. 

Mulder stirs and opens his eyes. They're still on the road, almost four hours after leaving the B&B either Krycek came back from very far away to find him, or he's been driving Mulder in circles. Mulder shrugged, there's no way to find his way here, and maybe when he drives back he'll be able to figure it out. The SUV lurches over a rough embankment and suddenly there's a small valley ahead. It's gorgeous, Mulder thinks, if you're into Xmas cars scenes, landscapes and natural settings. Krycek drives the vehicle around a high bank of snow covered rocks and there's the cabin. It's small and dark in the yellowish light and has a steep roof and a lean-to shed attached. It looks like it has been there forever and Mulder wonders how Krycek ever found it. 

Krycek feels himself relax when the cabin comes into view. Until four days ago, he hadn't been here since the week he spent getting it repaired and stocked before he had to go and retrieve the Smoker. The man and his son, who look after the cabin and write him from time to time, have no idea who he is. He's been careful that no one could be questioned and give away its location or description or his. 

He pulls up into the overhanging rafter of the shed. He'll pull down the canvas covers for the SUV once they're inside and all is well. He doesn't expect they will have to make a run for it, but he's certainly learned to be prepared for the worst outcomes. 

"Home sweet home," He says quietly when he turns the engine off. 

"Home on the range," Mulder replies and stretches. He would have never found this place, even with the Gunmen's information, it's just that remote and well hidden. 

They trundle Mulder's bag and the mattress inside. Krycek lights the stove and the fire in the fireplace. He starts the generator and turns on the couple of electric lamps he has in the place. Most of the time he uses oil lamps. 

Mulder sits down on Krycek's bunk. It's a smallish cabin, meant for a fishing vacation at the height of summer. Nevertheless, it is comfortable enough; the kitchen unit is up to date and there is a butcher block table with four chairs. Shelves stocked with cans, jars and packets lines the whole of one wall, except for the large window. It's triple pane glass, and he figures the light it lets in during the day is worth the cold it lets in during the night. They are far enough north that by Xmas, it will be light over sixteen hours a day. Not warm, but light. 

There are a couple of easy chairs positioned to get the best of the light, a compact and very sophisticated HAM set is in the corner. There is also a small desk and chair in the far corner, where it seems, Krycek has a pile of picture albums and old books stacked neatly, but easily at hand. His old beat up leather jacket is on the back of the chair at the desk. The rest of that wall is also all shelves, this time full of books, magazines and decks of cards, whittling tools, jigsaw puzzles, cook books and a putter-plastic hole golfing game. Mulder smiles, "Looks like you really are prepared for a lot of solo time." 

Krycek shrugs. He has the ice box open and he's pulling out sandwich meats. He doesn't know when Mulder last ate, but he's ravenous. 

As he makes sandwiches, Krycek watches Mulder wander around the small room and touch his things. He has never really considered what Mulder thinks about him except for the blame and the hate. Way back in the partner days, Mulder had begun to warm to him although he hadn't been considerate or inclusive, just not hateful or suspicious. Scully though, she'd never given him the time of day; not so much suspicious of him being a mole or a spy, but knowing he could possibly replace her as Mulder's go-to person. It hadn't been precisely jealousy, she had been too standoffish then about Mulder and relationships and sex, but it had been a kind of one-upmanship. Take that body in the morgue for instance, she'd not only exposed it trying to make him gag, but had tried to whisper only to Mulder about her findings and leave him out, preferably puking into the sink or something. 

Krycek slaps cheese on the sandwiches, puts mustard on the table with a jar of pickles and a bag of chips. "Let's eat." 

Mulder sits down at the table and eyes the food, "You got enough provisions to have a guest?" 

"Enough for the very short time you'll be here," He answers and twists the seal off the mustard holding the container in his fake hand. 

Mulder takes a bite and puts the sandwich down, "Start talking then," He says as he swallows. 

"When I was brought in by Spender and William Mulder, I believed that they were the insiders who were going to change the government to serve the people better. My father had died because of stupid government regulations and my mother died because she gave up after he was gone. I was young and I was angry and there was neither recompense nor apology from the government. Yes, yes," Krycek says waving his hand, "I was that nave. I was studying to be an architect and an engineer and not particularly interested in politics. Everything they suggested made sense. When they said I should go to the FBI academy so I would be on the inside too, I agreed and went. I attended a lecture and you were there being all brilliant and sarcastic, radiating anger and they had banked on my becoming interested in getting to know you. Once I was fully hooked, they said you were a fake, publicly badmouthing the government's projects while really cleaning up their messes for them." Krycek stops talking and eats his sandwich for a while, Mulder crunches pickles. 

"I wanted to know for myself if you were a fake and they arranged for me to get the lead on the Cole case. Believe me Mulder, when you were such a prick, I thought they had told me the truth. But, when you tried so hard to get Cole to expose what had happened to him, I began to have doubts." Krycek sighs deeply and pours a glass of water. "The file Colonel Franklin gave you was a top secret government file, but it wasn't until all the information disappeared that I was certain you and Scully were playing a deep game and that the old guys were probably right about you and her. When I suggested that she should be sent to another regional office, far from you, and they told me to shut up, I had no idea they were going to seriously mess her up." Krycek takes long swallows of water. 

"They pulled me out of the DC apartment so fast that I never had a chance to pack. I was in a crummy apartment in Manhattan with two other low-level `insiders' within hours. It was impressed on me that I better follow the same orders as these guys or windup dead in an alley. Cardinale was a genuine sociopath; the other guy was simply past feeling anything. I ferried documents and small packages for weeks, never asking questions and then they upped the ante and had me beat up a man in a business suit when he was in a parking garage going home after work. When I left him, he was breathing, in pain, but I doubt I even cracked his ribs. He was fine. By the time I woke up the next day, the news of the `mugging' was on TV, the guy was dead and the cops had good leads because the criminal had left DNA and fingerprints on the knife that killed him. I knew I was screwed. I tried pushing Spender to let me go; appealed to William Mulder to get rid of the evidence they had created. Needless to say, they laughed at me and told me to go back to following orders or else. A few more weeks while I struggled like a fish on the line to get out and they sent me back to the same apartment in DC as if I had always been there. I have no doubt the rest of the tenants would have sworn I was. I was assigned to watch you again and bring you into the whole Duane Barry abduction fantasy. I swear, I thought it `was' a fantasy, I had no knowledge of aliens or projects or anything. I was laughing when they sent me for coffee instead of letting me help in any useful way and when Scully came in all het up because she was sure they were setting you up for Barry to wack you, I was still laughing." Krycek wiped his face with a napkin and rose, beginning to pace. "Then I listened to the story he told you and the other captives and listened to you take him seriously as well as be seemingly knowledgeable about similar abductions. I didn't know who was crazy, only that the FBI AIC on the case intended to kill Barry as soon as they had a clear shot. I think I realized this was another case of cleaning up a mess they'd made, but I was rapidly reassessing who was the enemy and it was becoming clear that while Scully was maybe working for the same bastards that I was, you certainly were not. You know the rest. As soon as Barry escaped from the hospital and found Scully, using his implants, the bastards saw how to turn it to their advantage. Indeed, setting you up, getting rid of Scully, or at least, making you think so. I was told to stay close to you and facilitate them when they had orders. God Damn It Mulder, I wanted to go in the ski lift with you, I had no fucking idea of what was coming." 

Krycek sat in his cot with a hard plop. "After it was over and the Smoker came for me, I asked why they didn't just kill you instead of torturing you year and year. He said to shut up and follow orders. That's when they began to show me the project. He was a bastard and more, but Spender believed in the project with a capital P. After Scully was returned and assuming that you had the DAT tape, which you did, Spender had a meeting with William Mulder, he was failing fast between the cirrhosis, cigarettes and the continued drinking. I am not trying to make an excuse Mulder, but I think he wanted to die that night, because an hour after Spender left him with a variety of warnings and threats, he called you anyway, insisting you come right away. He had to know he was bugged; it was their MO without a moment's doubt. For all I know, he was setting you up too. William Mulder was a SOB too. When he saw me waiting in the bathroom, he had a moment of disbelief and then he smiled and said `Do it kid.' You know the rest, I tried to warn you, but you had already assumed I was the assassin. After a confrontation with Skinner, I got away with the DAT and went to ground." 

Mulder gaped at Alex Krycek; spy, assassin, liar, coward and all around son-of-a-bitch. "That's your story?" He asked incredulously. "You couldn't find a moment to tell me what you were up against, what I was in for or that my father was still working for the Smoker?" 

Krycek's lips thinned out and he became the consortium enforcer in an instant. "You may not appreciate this Mulder, but I had to juggle a lot of burning sticks just to stay one step ahead and alive. For all I knew, you, Scully, Skinner and the fifth floor janitor were all in on it with the bastards. I'd already been set up to take a murder rap, and the civility they hooked me with dried up at the same time. I knew they were serious about death, Mulder. They and death were playmates and lovers. They were covered in blood and I wasn't going to add mine to their tally. I wasn't going to add yours either, if I could help it and giving you information would have sealed your fate, buddy boy. You'd have had no compunction about screaming out the whole thing in public. I had no one on my side, no one to trust and so, I trusted no one." 

Krycek laid back on his bed, "Fuck you Mulder if you think I should have confessed at your knees and poured out my predicament. I took the damn tape as leverage and escaped. Not that it did me any good. I couldn't decode the fucking thing until I heard a whisper about that broker in California. I sent for her and she was all smiles and cash in hand, as long as I gave her the tape. I held on to it with both hands. Whatever was on it had been bought with pain, blood and death and treason for half a century and I wasn't giving it up until I knew it verbatim. I grew up fast in Hong Kong, leaving every bit of naivety and belief in any government behind. After I got wind that you had shown up, I had an epiphany. Spender or one of his crowd had sold or told the French Treasure Divers about what they could gain if they found that sub. I didn't sell that information because I could not decode the tape. Little did those divers know that what they were going to find was alien death by radiation or worse, becoming a slave horse it would ride until it either killed you or moved on." 

Krycek sat up and looked directly into Mulder's eyes, "I could have killed you in that office confrontation and I didn't. I could have killed you while I had the alien in my skin and I didn't, although it had no more use for you once we were back in the USA. Hell Mulder, I could have killed you at least fifty times over the past several years and I didn't. You endangered me far worse than anything I ever did to you." 

Mulder felt like throwing the mustard jar through the plate glass window. "Sure, Krycek, helping them to infect Scully with cancer was a real boon and killing my father was supposed to be the bonus? You bastard, if anything you've said is true, it sure didn't take you long to go from college-kid to rookie agent to paid assassin. Ever wonder where your morals went asshole?" 

"I wanted to survive." Krycek growled. 

Mulder felt a whisper of fear go down his spine. He was alone with his father's killer in the middle of nowhere, maybe he should stick to the plan to elicit information and stay away from personal issues. He backpedaled quickly, "Okay, okay. I understand although I can't condone what you've done. Go on." 

"Tomorrow Mulder, it's been a long day and I'm pretty pissed off right now. It's better if I take a shower and hit the sack." Krycek suited his words to his actions and unbuttoned his shirt with the tug and pull method he'd learned to do with one hand. Whenever he got a new shirt, he had the laundry triple sew the buttons on with stout thread; they lasted a little longer that way. 

Mulder watched while his brain ticked over and over, bringing up almost forgotten knowledge of psychoanalyses and personality disorders. Alex Krycek was a loner. Maybe he hadn't always been that way, but alone in the world after his parents' deaths he'd managed until his anger and grief had made him vulnerable to Spender's and yes, his father's wiles too. Sanctioned, at the start, to encourage and heat up his feelings, young Krycek had been a perfect blend of sorrow and anarchy. The project had probably recruited dozens of young men this way. Then, they left him out in the wilderness again as they raised the stakes and trained him in obedience. He had been too smart to fall all the way, however, and had struggled against them with all he had. What he had become was something even he hadn't recognized, strung out between violence and threats on all sides and with no one to trust. For a moment, Mulder wished he had reached out and paid attention back in the day. Krycek had been ripe for a real friendship and as desperate as a drowning man for someone to trust. On the other hand, Mulder had been cautious; Krycek had been an unknown quantity and Scully had been clear about her doubts of his veracity right from the start. He had chosen Scully over any twinge of interest in Krycek as a partner or as a friend. Then there was the small, secret and ashamed whisper, which warned him Krycek was interested in him sexually. Despite every cry for others to believe the impossible and to consider the improbable, he'd carried a bias against gay men hidden away in his brain. In his years of loneliness since Diana had left, he'd allowed his bias to grow against men who found sex and relationships that way. 

Mulder shrugged and unfolded his mattress between the small table and the old fashioned stove. The floor was cold, but the stove and his blankets would keep him warm enough to sleep. He'd just have to watch his head if he woke suddenly and tried to stand up. 

Shirt, undershirt and prostheses removed, Krycek refused to huddle or hide his mangled body. If it offended Mulder, it was too bad. He was this way, in part, because of Mulder. He opened a lever in the floor by his bed and revealed a large and quite chilly cavern of storage space. He knelt down and grabbed a couple of pillows, blankets and sheets from the top layer, tossing them onto the floor by where Mulder was laying out his mattress. It would be warm enough on the floor. The mattress was thick and had some insulation built into it like a ski jacket. "Use these," He muttered and headed for the shower, the generator had been on long enough to provide them both with quick showers tonight. 

Mulder sat back on his knees and watched Krycek go into the small bathroom in the corner of the cabin. What was left of his butchered arm looked shrunken and odd against his otherwise strong body. He wasn't as lean as he'd been as a rookie, but he was in good shape. Idly he wondered what workout routine Krycek used. Mulder unfolded the sheets and blankets and started to make his bed. Contrary to anything he'd expected previously, Krycek was telling him a true story of his induction and training by the old bastards and he wasn't showing any hint of his former badass attraction either. Mulder got clean socks and a pair of flannel pajama pants out of his case, he'd put the tee-shirt he was wearing back on after his shower. Maybe being on the other side of Scully, so to speak, Mulder smiled at his own thought, having consummated, brought a child into the world and otherwise solidified his relationship with Scully, he wasn't as threatened by the possibility of the Krycek-gayness factor. Mulder smoothed the pillows; he wasn't a lonely loser anymore so he could relax. 

Or, maybe not, Mulder folded and refolded the pajama bottoms as he waited for his turn in the shower. Maybe there had been just the tiniest touch of envy too, because there was no doubt in his mind or from what he'd observed over the years, which demonstrated that gay men hooked up a million times more easily than men did with women. Sex was sex and no one pretended. He'd been so lonely back then, lost in his own wilderness of who to trust or believe. He'd allowed everyone to scoff and joke about his porn collection, but for him, it had been a necessary part of staying sane and hedging off the pathetic nature of his solitude. Maybe he'd been afraid of what Krycek, possibly, had to offer. He remembered the meeting in his office, after his return from Oregon with Scully. Krycek had walked in, led by Skinner of all people, and Marita had been right behind him. She had been an ice queen as usual, but he'd seen very clearly that she and Krycek had a relationship and knew it for a sexual relationship at that. For a few moments he'd lost his concentration on the threat of the alien ship and wondered about Krycek and this new information. In what had followed, he had forgotten about it, but now, alone with Alex Krycek, sharing space with the man, his thoughts returned. It made thinking about Krycek's sexuality more interesting, perhaps he'd been wrong all along or Krycek was heterosexual or Marita had just given off possessive vibes. 

The bathroom door opened. Krycek's hair was slicked back and shiny wet, but the rest of him seemed dry enough. He was in a t-shirt and gray jogging pants, his feet bare. He looked curiously young in the cabin light, almost as he had done when they'd first met. Mulder studied Krycek as he hung his damp towel over one of the chairs at the table. The bathroom probably didn't have two towel racks and he was leaving space for him. Despite the light and the slicked back hair, Mulder saw that Krycek's face, his demeanor, were very different than back in the day. This man looked weary unto his deepest bone marrow and as sad as a witness at the Crucifixion. Mulder felt his breath catch in his throat. It was a look he recognized from his own mirror many a night before he would try to find oblivion in sleep on his old couch; only to fail. Mulder got up and brushed by Krycek, anxious not to touch him as he passed. Were they really that much alike? Did they really have that much in common from almost a decade dealing with the same bastards? Mulder turned the shower on full blast. His mind wanted to reject his conclusion, but his heart would not listen. He thought he could hear the Gods of Irony laughing beneath the beat of the water on the tiles. 

Chapter 16 

"The innocent are so few that two of them seldom meet - when they do meet, their victims lie strewn all round" Elizabeth Bowen 

Krycek couldn't image Mulder was so shy that he would run into the bathroom to avoid being seen in his boxers, but maybe he was. Mulder'd been studying him intently and it made Krycek uneasy. There was nothing to see that was surprising except the amputation and Mulder had known about that for years. Krycek shook his head and got into bed. As soon as Mulder was on his pallet, he'd turn off the light. The embers in the stove and the fireplace would provide some nightlight. He adjusted himself into his usual position on his left side, his gun by his right hand beneath his pillow. Without the rough outline of his gun beneath his head, he couldn't sleep; he smiled at the thought he was the opposite of the Princess and the Pea, he needed the bumpy object to provide security. Well, he shrugged, he'd never thought of himself as a prince, a princess or a `queen' in any case. 

Mulder came out on a whiff of citrus scented steam and went right to his pallet. "Sleep well, Mulder." Krycek said and turned off the light. 

"No bad dreams," Mulder answered and it was silent in the cabin. 

Mulder woke to quiet coolness in the half light of dawn. He felt rested and secure, which was surprising, but he turned off his worry mechanism and decided to enjoy waking up for once. He thought about the things he did not have this morning; he did not have Scully snuffling lightly next to him, or the baby making soggy chirping sounds from the next room. There was no buzz of his fish tank or the hum of the electrical machinery that was in every room of the apartment. He did not have Krycek's full story, either the personal one or the alien one, but he'd gotten a start the night before. The was no sounds of technology and he knew if he got out of his nest, he'd have to sprint to the bathroom on a cold floor and wash up with freezing water. Krycek most likely turned on the generator and built up the stove and fireplace before he even peed in the mornings. He listened intently; Krycek's breaths were barely audible and evenly paced. He could kill Krycek in his sleep and be done with the conundrum the man posed in his life. Given the location of the cabin it was unlikely that anyone would discover the body for years. 

Mulder sighed and immediately, he heard Krycek's breaths pause. He felt a strange kind of excitement, which caused his own breath to catch in his chest. Today he would have answers to questions he'd had forever. Today he might be able to put together the puzzle of his survivor guilt, lifetime quest and consider future plans to rid the planet of the aliens. And, maybe pigs would fly, but he was here and in the twisted matrix that was Alex Krycek, he was closer than he'd ever been before. 

"You all right there, Mulder?" Krycek asked in a raspy morning voice. 

"I'm fine, just wondering about the service in this place. When does the heating come on?" 

Krycek snorted, "Oh yes, Master Mulder. I sure will get the comforts going right away." 

Mulder laughed, "Get to it then boy." He said. 

Krycek made a production of rustling his blankets, pulling on a pair of socks over the pair he'd slept in, pissed that with everything he'd bought to come up here, he'd forgotten to buy warm slippers. He got up, went to the bathroom quickly, because there is nothing so swift to incite the bladder than going from warm to cold. He built up the correct proportion of coal to wood in the Aga and lit it, within moments; he couldn't see his breath in the air anymore. He turned on the generator and made a mental note to check the fuel level sometime this morning. "You can get up now princess," He said. "The fireplace takes a few minutes to clean before I can build another fire. You won't freeze now that I've got the stove going." 

Mulder got up; glad he had socks on his feet to cut the chill of the floor. "Thanks Krycek," He murmured and went into the bathroom, leaving, if he'd looked back, a totally flabbergasted Krycek filling a big kettle with water to boil. 

Krycek put the kettle on the stove and turned on the flame, he wondered what Mulder was up to with the show of good tempered civility this morning. Mulder had never been good tempered in any of the times they'd been together in the past. Well, they were both getting older, perhaps that was the reason. 

While the kettle boiled, Krycek swept out the ashes from the fireplace into the duct. He was glad Mulder wasn't watching because it was a dirty unbalanced activity and he always ended up with soot on his face and the seat of his pants. It was done and the kettle sang out its screech of steam. Krycek put a cast iron pan on the stove over medium flame and took down two large mugs from the cupboard. He put the rough ground coffee into the French Press and poured the boiling water through the grid. As the hot water seeped through, he cracked half a dozen eggs into the pan, threw in some shredded cheddar and mixed it into a messy, but tasty scramble. He put bread under the broiler to make toast. By the time Mulder emerged, face shiny from a cold water washing, breakfast was ready and the cabin was reaching a tolerable temperature. 

"Smells good at this B&B," Mulder said as he sat at the table and reached for the coffee cup. 

"It's not ready yet," Krycek said, pointing to the French Press. 

Mulder nodded and stared at the Press. 

"Three minutes Mulder," Krycek said dryly, "And your fix of a legal stimulant will be ready." 

Mulder smiled wryly. "Coffee is the elixir of life," He replied and watched Krycek cook. After a few minutes he says, "You are very competent with one hand." 

Krycek shrugs and pours the coffee into the large mugs and puts them on the table. "Adapt or die." He says seriously and the quality of the air in the room changes into something restive and dark. 

Mulder adds cream to his coffee, more to cool it quickly than to make it mild. He likes black coffee. "You know Krycek, in a lot of kitchens this morning people are making coffee and having breakfast without the weight of the world at the table too." 

Krycek puts the toast and scrambled mixture onto two plates without a reply. He adds butter, jelly and hot sauce to the table as well. He sits and eats. 

This time Mulder shrugs and begins to eat. 

Krycek swallows, abruptly he says, "As I was introduced to the alien project, I think I understood that I would never be done with it as long as I lived, which I didn't think was going to be a long time in the future. They started with the science, thinking as a recent college student, I would be interested in that aspect. It was all over my head; I hadn't studied or thought about genetics since ninth grade biology class. I had taken geology classes in college for my science credits figuring it would be helpful if I understood dirt and rocks when I designed buildings. Anyway, the dirty part of the whole deal wasn't revealed for a long time. I had been led to believe these aliens were the friendly kind, like on Star Trek or something and that they had a similar code of ethics to humans. Most of these sessions took place when I was off duty at the academy. It wasn't until near the end of the twelve weeks that they revealed there were a great many issues with agreement about how far to use the science and the aliens and how intimately they wanted to interact with the aliens. That's when they had me actually meet one. It showed me its real body and its human form, doing the shifting in front of me. It did me for a few seconds and I was struck dumb with horror. I honestly think Spender thought I would be excited and interested. After they had it leave the room, they showed me a film with several of the old men killing aliens with the ice pick thing, and how they turned into green toxic slime. I had never killed anything in my life, not even a bird or a rabbit although my father had taught me to shoot a rifle. But Mulder, there was something inside of me that realized I could kill these things, that I would be happy to kill them and not feel any moral or emotional guilt when I did it." 

Krycek stopped to eat a few bites and drink his rapidly cooling coffee. He continued, "Now I'm sure you would have been fascinated and would have argued with the bastards to make the alien news public. I didn't have any such altruistic feelings. I realized that the old buzzards wanted power; it was in every word and gesture they made. I knew immediately that they had no qualms about killing off humans and aliens to get their way and that I had just become their pet errand boy and possibly, assassin. I might have been fairly innocent until that moment, but I never was again." Mulder sat back. This was something he'd never really considered since the first hours after his disastrous ski-lift ride on Skyland Mountain; how Alex Krycek had come to be suborned. He'd quickly decided Krycek was pure evil and that was that. Now, he wasn't so sure. If he hadn't Samantha's abduction to haunt him, what would he have done if Spender had come looking to seduce him to the dark side. "Go on," He said although he wasn't so sure he wanted more insights into Krycek's soul. 

"Everything happened very quickly after that, almost as if there were headlights in my eyes all the time and I couldn't see beyond the glare of the trouble I was in or the precipitous ledge I stood on. I swear I didn't know they were going to take Scully and hurt her, but once it was in play, I followed orders. I asked why they hadn't told me to kill you and Spender said some bullshit and told me to be a good soldier or die. I knocked out that ski lift operator, but left him unconscious on the floor. Whoever cleaned up after me killed him, I suspect either it was Cardinale or the Major, your Mr. X." 

Mulder sipped his coffee, put down the cup and said, "Once I found the cigarette butts in the ashtray, I wrote the whole thing up and took it to Skinner. I wanted to know if you had been suborned. He called you and your number was disconnected and you were in the wind. There was no other conclusion than you were a mole, a spy and a liar, no matter how you'd come to be working for the Smoker." 

Krycek huffed out a breath, but said quietly enough, "I know." 

Mulder sat nonplussed; sipping his coffee as if there were no horrific history between him and his host, as if what Krycek was explaining should make sense and that perhaps, Mulder should agree that it made sense. Mulder could picture his hate becoming a smaller and smaller island in the vast distance of the Pacific Ocean, sliding off the horizon until it was gone. He sighed and Krycek, the stone cold killer, traitor and saboteur, echoed the sigh with one of his own. The cabin was quiet save for the soft hisses and spits of the fire and the stove. 

Chapter 17 

Just as every cop is a criminal   
And all the sinners saints   
As heads is tails   
Just call me Lucifer   
'Cause I'm in need of some restraint  
The Rolling Stones 

They talked on and off all day. Mulder showed off by shopping firewood and was sorry within the hour as his muscles began to ache. Krycek made sandwiches and soup for lunch and opened a tin of the best chocolate-chip cookies Mulder had ever tasted. He looked at the label and realized why; each cookie averaged out to about three dollars apiece. "Wow," Mulder commented and his obvious astonishment made Krycek grin. Mulder felt as if he'd been given a gift of some kind, beyond the expensive cookies. 

By nightfall, Mulder understood about the Alien Supersoldiers and knew how they could be destroyed. He doubted Senator Matheson, Skinner or Kersh would be willing to get the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the President to issue orders that all areas in the United States, let alone the United Nations and the world, should build enclosures around their homes, neighborhoods or cities made of irradiated rocks and sand. The only slice of hope was that as of now, Krycek had told him, there were only a few dozen of the creatures fully completed and actively working to prepare for their eventual takeover of the planet. 

He spent the afternoon wearing heat strips on his back trying to come up with a plan that would force all the Supersoldiers to have a meeting in one place and conveniently hang around to be nuked. Other than that, it had been a revelation to Mulder to spend an entire day talking with someone who knew and believed in the aliens as much as he did himself. 

Krycek baked frozen lasagna for dinner and heated some frozen rolls. He added Chianti of impeccable breeding and declared dinner was ready. Mulder came to the table and filled his plate. Wonderingly he said, "I can't think when I've been treated better, Krycek." He gestured, "The food, the warmth," He grinned sheepishly, "The company." 

Krycek looked at him seriously, "You and I have lived a very different kind life so far, from a normal American one, I mean; difficult, unendingly dangerous lives. I've been a rolling stone since I met the old bastards and you've believed in the dream of reuniting with your sister, perhaps fixing your family, as well as going all out to satisfy your curiosity and intelligence with odd phenomena. Comfortable accommodations and a safe haven have not been at the top of the list. Deciding to get out wasn't easy, Mulder, but when I woke in a pool of my own blood on a filthy cement garage floor, I didn't need any more proof that my time was up." Krycek shrugged, "I have hated you during the past eight or so years. You became the symbol to me of everything that stood in my way of power and fortune. But after I lost my arm, I realized power and fortune were the least of what I wanted. Don't get me wrong, I am not some kind of reformed bad guy, I just wanted out." 

Mulder frowned, "Why didn't you die or stay dead, whichever is correct?" 

"I have no idea. The Supersoldiers have no fuzzy feelings about human life or death and certainly not any for me personally. I have no doubt that if they find me, and they can find anyone, the only way they can get me is to put the black shit back in. I have my gun handy all the time, Mulder. If they come for me, I'm taking my own way out." 

"They could simply repair you again," Mulder said. "I doubt I'm that valuable, but even if they do, I will have opted out the best way I know." 

"True," Mulder said slowly, "True." 

They ate and drank quietly for a few minutes, before Mulder said, "I've hated you viciously, Krycek. All this," He continued waving his hand to encompass the whole place, "Is something of a revelation to me. I'd forgotten you were human in every way a long time ago." 

Krycek put his goblet down on the table and wiped his mouth with his napkin, he met Mulder's eyes squarely for perhaps the first time since forever, "I forgot too." He said, "I tried to forget." 

Into the silence, Mulder took a deep, audible breath, "Why didn't you kill me, you could've anytime?" 

"Ah Mulder," Krycek said it like he was casting an incantation, "Every time I had to cross another line, step over one more notch in my humanity, I could say to myself, `at least I haven't murdered Mulder yet,' and it kept me sane if only for a little longer." 

Mulder nodded as if what Krycek said made sense to him and answered many unasked questions. "Do you think we're brothers?" He asked. 

Krycek choked, "You mean like biologically?" 

"Yeah," Mulder answered, "Like that."  
Krycek laughed. 

Mulder watched Krycek laugh, the other man was genuinely amused, his eyes crinkled at the corners and across his nose, he looked younger and his teeth gleamed white in the light. 

Eventually Krycek sobered and said, "Of all the possible ironies that would be the biggest of them all. I don't think so. I knew my parents and look like my parents and they were no way connected with any of those old men or the project." 

Mulder nodded again, it had been a thought of his from time to time, once he wasn't sure who his own biological father was. The intensity of his interactions with Krycek had spurred the idea. He was relieved that it seemed impossible. 

Krycek got up to clear the table, but Mulder waved him down into his chair and did the task himself. 

Krycek watched Mulder as he cleared the table. He needed Mulder to finish his questions and leave as soon as possible. The camaraderie they had developed scared the shit out of him and listening to Mulder snuffle in his sleep less that three feet away was akin to Chinese water torture; eating into his resistance and impelling him towards making a move he had no business making or worse, making an offer to help the other man, which was suicide. He may not have been as bad to the bone as Mulder had believed, but neither was he a self-sacrificing wimp, ruled by his personal passions or for Mulder's approval. He got to his feet, grabbed an item off the table and tossed it into the fridge. "You need to leave tomorrow, Mulder." He said baldly. 

Mulder came to a standstill, "and what brings that on?" 

"Come on Mulder," Krycek said, buying time. "You're a hero remember, it's time you went back and figure out a way to end the alien threat," He paused, "If you can." 

Mulder sat on the chair he had so recently vacated. Krycek stood, almost hovering in his anxiety to get Mulder to agree to leave. 

Mulder looked at his hands, "I make you uncomfortable, Krycek?" He asked rhetorically. "I bother you beyond being members of enemy camps, don't I?" 

Krycek let a sigh escape, "Yeah, you do. In another minute you're going to want me to help you with more than information and when I refuse you're going to get all riled up and call me names and throw punches. This is my sanctuary Mulder; it's only got room for one." 

Mulder nodded to himself. "You're probably right," He said, striving for a laconic tone, but succeeding in sounding peevish instead. 

Krycek grinned wryly, Mulder didn't seem able to keep his eyes on the prize of information anymore than Krycek could keep his thoughts organized in order to remain aloof. 

Mulder twiddled his thumbs for a few moments while Krycek put the final things from dinner away, checked the fuel for the generator and fed the stove with a final load of kindling and coal for the night. 

Looking steadily out the window at the night, Mulder said, "Krycek, are you a ..." He couldn't finish the question. 

Krycek raised a brow, but Mulder's unease got across to him. In a hoarse voice he said, "Am I a what, Mulder?" 

Mulder shrugged and scratched his nose. 

Krycek reached for his sweats and went into the bathroom and turned the shower on. 

Chapter 18 

"You cannot run with the hare and hunt with the hounds." -- Proverb 

No matter how hot he turned the water on; Krycek knew his hands stayed cold. He hadn't been this shaken or embarrassed about what he was since he was fourteen and got caught on the couch in his basement with Ron and Lisa; all of them naked to the waist while he had one hand on Lisa's boob and the other on top of Ron's erection through his jeans. He tried to laugh it off, but his hands remained numb with cold. Damn if Mulder didn't have the power to reduce him to a bout of teenaged angst. He muttered into the stream of water that he would damn well enjoy sex with whomever he wanted, no matter what an uptight asshole Mulder was. And Mulder was an asshole, waiting years for Scully to open her thighs and then believing she'd been knocked up, when he knew perfectly well she had been made barren by the bastards years before. So what if the sprog had Mulder DNA, it hadn't come through Mulder's dick. 

Mulder decided the better part of valor would be to retreat onto his mattress and pull the blankets over his head. What had he been thinking to introduce sexuality into the close air of the cabin? It was just Krycek had surprised him by wanting to kick him out so soon. The man had said it with a sort of desperation, the same kind Mulder knew he had had a hundred times in his voice when Scully had hung around too late in his apartment and he'd wanted her, but knew he had to make her leave. He sighed and resisted hiding his face in the pillow. Krycek had wormed himself onto Mulder's sympathetic side somehow with all the camaraderie and hot food and easy talk of aliens and belief in the paranormal. It had felt so comfortable and had been such a huge kind of relief to finally spend time with another true believer. And the man had looked good in the cabin light, younger and sort of burnished with his lips reddened from the winter wind and his eyes as green as spring grass. It wasn't fair, Mulder shook his head. What would have been if Krycek had been a good guy all those years ago instead of what he was, a dirty, scum-sucking traitor, liar and murderer. Mulder repeated this derogatory line a few more times, but it just didn't satisfy him anymore. He turned his head into the pillow and decided to pretend to be asleep, wondering who exactly was the coward tonight. 

Krycek came out of the shower dressed in his sweats and saw Mulder pretending to sleep. He went with the fiction, Mulder had come much too close for his comfort and Mulder's laser-brain for making connections out of cotton candy and cumulous clouds would eventually lead him to know Krycek'd desired him for ages. Now, wouldn't that be the final weapon in Mulder's armory? Krycek shook his head, checked the stove, turned off the lights and hit the sack. He closed his eyes, but knew the cabin was no longer his own safe, secure and solitary hideaway. Mulder's breath would stay long after the man himself was gone and Krycek would have to live with the ghost of what might have been, if only. 

Mulder woke to a dim morning and could tell it was snowing before he got up to look out the window. For once, Krycek was still sleeping. Mulder turned on his side and looked up at the man on the bed. He looked like someone who lived hard and fast; there were faint scars and blotches on that otherwise pale skin and dark circles beneath the eyes, which one noticed only now when the green lasers were shut. Mulder'd thought Krycek was often expressionless, but seeing him vulnerable like this showed a different take on the facial control he used when awake. Mulder moved reluctantly, knowing as soon as he got up, the other man would awaken, but the bathroom was calling his name urgently. 

Krycek was making coffee by the time Mulder had executed a fast toilette and came out of the bathroom smelling of shaving cream and mint toothpaste. "It's snowing." Mulder said. 

Krycek grunted, gestured toward the coffee pot and went into the bathroom. 

Mulder felt unaccountably happy knowing he wasn't getting tossed out this morning. He examined this feeling while he started mixing up pancakes from a fancy box off of Krycek's shelves. He wanted to stay with a surprising amount of longing as if this were home or something and the world, including aliens, syndicates; Scully and Will were the fantasy on the other side of the snow. He beat the batter quickly; this kind of thing had no place in his life with what was out there, however distant it seemed this morning. He put some butter in a flat pan and ladled in circles of batter. He had a plate ready by the time an equally groomed Krycek came out of the bathroom. 

Krycek sat at the table and grinned sardonically, "About time you did some of the chores." Mulder flipped some pancakes. 

Krycek ate. 

Mulder sat with his full plate, poured some syrup and another cup of coffee. "I want you to come back and help me," He said. 

Krycek choked, "You're delusional, Mulder. I am out of it; O U T." 

Mulder snorted and ate a bite, "No, I'm not. It's not over and you can't pretend you're not interested in the outcome. This," He said and waved his hand about, "Is not the place for you, hiding behind snow and Canadian borders." 

"You don't know enough about me to say that. This is exactly what I want to do and where I want to be. Like you, I've been running around in a frenzy screaming `the sky is falling' for the past decade. Unlike you, I've gotten dizzy and nauseas and need a time out. A long time out." 

Mulder stretched his arm and picked up one of the old photo albums off the small stack Krycek had on his desk. 

Krycek cleared the table. 

Mulder began to flip through the pages. There were a few faded sepia toned pictures of old people in Eastern Europe at the turn of the century; dressed in uncomfortable collars and Edwardian wedding dresses. He looked up at Krycek. "Those are my great grandparents on their wedding day with cousins who married in a double wedding. The clothing was rented and the wedding held in the same building as the clothier. It was a big deal to go into Prague from the countryside to get married, and this is the only photo they ever were in." 

Mulder nodded, his father's parents had done a similar thing, although in Boston's Jewish Quarter. They'd also rented wedding outfits and married with a picture made as the only memento. The next few pages were also full of faded pictures, obviously taken by amateurs. The man, tall and well built, roguish, and bearded was an almost exact twin of the man standing at the sink. He made a questioning sound. 

"My mother's father," Krycek answered. "He's the one who worked himself to death so my mother and her brothers could go and study in the city. He wanted them to live as professionals and not peasants." 

Mulder turned a few pages and faded colors began to tint some of the pictures; a young woman in a cap and gown with a grim soviet building behind her, a young man with a smirk and a glass of vodka laughing at the camera. Krycek looked over Mulder's shoulder, "My parents," He said and sighed. 

"You look like them," Mulder said and found he was a little surprised as he said it. Krycek was such a profoundly singular experience in his life that finding out there were other Krycek's was disturbing in a strange way. "I guess you weren't hatched fully formed," Mulder said. 

Krycek laughed, "Don't worry Mulder; I'm the last as far as I know. If there are others with the name, they are in the hills of Slovakia or Croatia somewhere." 

Mulder closed the volume, "I'm the last too, on this side of the Atlantic anyway." 

Krycek put his hand on Mulder's shoulder and squeezed, "You do have a son, you realize." 

Mulder bowed his head and spoke softly, "I told Scully he was a miracle, but I think it must be a scientific one and not one of faith." 

Krycek sighed again, "So what? A life is a life and all new life has potential, maybe he will be a bum or maybe he is the messiah. It's a little early to tell." 

Mulder found he could lean his head back against Krycek's abdomen and feel comforted. 

Krycek scrubbed a hand through Mulder's hair, "You worry about the wrong things Mulder. You always have. For all your brilliance and training, you have never really understood that the whole project, all of it, was never personal. It was about power, wealth and greed. The men who started it and those who have died because of it were not on some holy grail. None of them has ever understood your wounded heart or given it real attention, because they do not exist in the same universe as you, where family and love are the most important things. How can you still believe William Mulder had you and Samantha's best interests as his motivation? Or Spender's Jeffery and his wife? Or any of them who have sacrificed blood-ties for power?" 

Mulder closed his eyes and Krycek stopped talking, merely stroking his hand strongly through Mulder's hair, massaging his scull and his neck, loosening the knots that had been there since he was thirteen. The fireplace popped and the stove hissed now and then, but it was peaceful and safe and Mulder felt tears form and flow down his cheeks and still, Krycek rubbed his head and breathed deeply behind him. 

Chapter 19 

"The true feeling of sex is that of a deepintimacy, but above all of a deep complicity" James Dickey 

Krycek talked no more of Mulder leaving and Mulder didn't bring the subject up. They talked for hours on every other topic from the mundane to the sacred and back to sports and braggadocio about their strengths. Now that Mulder could not see Krycek as simply his enemy, he could appreciate the other man's humor and sharp observations. 

Krycek went to his cot each night for the two weeks following Mulder's tears wondering how he deserved such an olive branch and how Mulder was offering what appeared to be genuine friendship and a certain intimate look into his deepest feelings. He'd dreamed of sex and being partners who watched each other's back, but he had never imagined this kind of connection. Hell, he'd never had such a relationship in his life. "Mulder, what are your plans?" He asked, throat tight. 

Mulder stretched. He'd understood that Krycek wanted him sexually, but that he would never make the first move and risk destroying their newborn alliance. He'd begun to understand that Krycek quite possibly loved him too and had for a long time. He felt suffused with a kind of courage he'd been lacking. Oh, he knew Scully loved him in her way, but she had always seemed prepared for him to die and had her mourning already measured in advance. Skinner would miss him a bit, but no one, save this enemy/lover would really mourn. "When the next thaw lets us out, I'll go back and try to get Skinner and Kersh to understand what we're up against. They might not be able to marshal UN ground forces, but they do have a lot of people they can call upon if necessary." 

"What will you have them plan to do, Mulder?" Krycek asked breathless, he hadn't expected Mulder to have plans. He'd sensed Mulder felt good here in the far north with him, encased by snow and bothered by no one from D.C. 

Mulder shrugged, got up and paced the small cabin's planked floor. "I don't know. If we go after too few at a time, the others will realize what the traps are and never come. If we plan too large an operation, news of it will leak and they will know to avoid it. It's got to be possible to refine the ore, liquefy it, or put it in M-15 bullets or a bazooka or something. Then, we can hunt them instead of them hunting us." 

Krycek couldn't help the evil grin which formed on his lips and Mulder, glancing at him, got a charge of energy. Krycek was in no way, shape or form through with the supersoldiers or the project or being a conniving son of a bitch. Suddenly full of hope, "What?" Mulder asked. 

Krycek rocked back and forth in his chair, "That might be possible; I don't know if anyone considered it before. Most of the old men are gone and the few who are left have gone into hiding to stay out of the hybrids' way. They still are rich as Croesus, but it doesn't matter, they cannot buy their way out of this situation." 

Mulder nodded with satisfaction, now things were happening. "Come back with me," He urged. 

Krycek snorted, "Skinner would gun me down again or the hybrids would break my neck." Mulder grinned; worrying about being killed wasn't the same as saying no. 

They talked ways and means for hours and each time Mulder urged Krycek to go back with him, Krycek had a weaker and weaker way of saying no. At last, after lunch and quick workout at the woodpile, Mulder had had enough. He put his right arm on the table and said aggressively, "I win you come, you win and I'll stop asking." 

Krycek laughed, "You want to arm-wrestle?" He doubled over in laughter. 

"It's better than tossing a coin." Mulder muttered with a smile on his lips. 

Krycek looked up at him, suddenly sobering. "Mulder as soon as we cross the DC line, you're going to hate me and suspect me again. You will see Skinner grimace and Scully shake her head and believe they are right and you've done an insane thing. You will watch my face for clues and judge the tiniest flicker as subterfuge and gile. I know you of old, Mulder. You've always wanted, against your will or not, to believe that I could give you the answers. Well, I've given you all that I have and you should pack your bag and I'll drive you back when we have a thaw." 

Mulder sighed, but remained valiant, "I can promise you I will not suspect you again. Come on, Krycek, I need your help, only you can guess at their logistics with any hope of accuracy, only you can plan the strategy that will draw them in." 

Krycek stared hard into Mulder's eyes and without dropping his gaze he said, "I've always had a crush on you Agent Fox Mulder; ever since I saw you in that lecture at the academy. I am bisexual with a definite lean to the gay side of things. If I come back now, it will be because I have feelings for you and not because I care about the project or believe we can triumph over the supersoldiers. Do you understand?" 

Mulder dropped his eyes, "I know." He said softly. "I think I've known since the Cole case years ago. As you became the enemy and a tough opponent, I think I was flattered that such a strong, wily bastard wanted me. I have been lonely for many years, you know that. Scully's love was hard won and yet as much as I love her, I know we do not mesh in the way that a couple should to be happy. Maybe there is too much water under the bridge for that, too many nightmares." Mulder paused and took a deep breath, "I have not considered actually reckoning with you about sex, Krycek. I can promise an equal partnership in the search to destroy the alien threat. I cannot promise I will come to desire you sexually or love you romantically. Do `you' understand?" 

"Partner and friend sound good after what we've been to one another all these years. It's what I used to dream of in various terrible predicaments these past years. But Mulder, you will be under a great deal of pressure, you realize that? Scully, Skinner, Kersh may believe you now about aliens, but that doesn't mean they will want to go to war against them." 

Mulder stood up tall and straight, "We will just have to convince them." He said. "Together I think we can. I need you Alex. I need you as a friend, as a kindred true believer and as someone who will have my back, as I will have yours." He put out his hand for Krycek to shake. 

Krycek frowned at Mulder, but Mulder's hand did not falter. Krycek put out his hand into Mulder hands, gripped him and pulled him near in one strong motion. He let go of Mulder's hand and wrapped his arm around Mulder's body, until they were chest to chest, "Payment in advance," Krycek whispered and kissed him. 

End Book 1 

Dear readers, there is a Book 2. I promise to post it everywhere in a few weeks, I could just not get it done by Dec 24. For once, I am writing about a whole relationship with Mulder, before and after sex. 

Flutesong 

I will love you more than me  
and more than yesterday  
If you can but prove to me  
you are the new day 

Send the sun in time for dawn  
Let the birds all hail the morning  
Love of life will urge me say  
you are the new day 

When I lay me down at night  
knowing we must pay  
Thoughts occur that this night might  
stay yesterday 

Thoughts that we as humans small  
could slow worlds and end it all  
lie around me where they fall  
before the new day 

One more day when time is running out  
for everyone  
Like a breath I knew would come I reach for the new day 

Hope is my philosophy  
Just needs days in which to be  
Love of life means hope for me  
borne on a new day 

You are the new day 

  
 

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Series Name:   **Send the Sun**  
Title:   **Send the Sun Book 1**   
Author:  Flutesong   [email/website]   
Details:   **Series**  |  **R**  |  **135k**  |  **02/21/10**   
Pairings:  Mulder/Krycek   
Category:  Drama, Story, Relationship, Pre-slash, Angst, AU (Alternate Universe)   
  
  
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